


System of Darkness

by InfiniteJediLove



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Abuse, Action/Adventure, Angst, Badass Jedi team, Chases, Dark Past, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective! Qui-Gon, Protective!Obi-Wan, Sexual Content, Slavery, Some Canon, Space Battles, Violence, Will Have Happy Ending, also true love, graphically realistic though, lightsaber fights, no abuse or violence between main pairing, slavery is not romanticized or sexualized, some fanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:16:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 157,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4304679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfiniteJediLove/pseuds/InfiniteJediLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chosen at age eleven by Jedi Master Virmu, Obi-Wan Kenobi meets the maverick Jedi, Qui-Gon Jinn, twelve years later, when they are assigned on a mission to investigate the theft of starships from the Duro Starshipwright Shipyard. What appears to be routine quickly grows more complex as violence ensues, loyalties are questioned, and a dangerous reminder of Obi-Wan’s past rises to the forefront. Torn between the Jedi path and their devotion to one another, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon must risk everything to destroy a criminal organization that spans the galaxy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I made the Grelian species up, as Master Virmu is a OFC. however, the Duros are real and do play a large part in this story.
> 
> comments are always welcome!

Qui-Gon sat cross-legged on the floor of the small recreational area, his thick brown cloak removed, his graying hair loose and flowing around his shoulders. He could feel the engines of the older ship humming underneath him, vibrating slightly through his limbs as he remained in light meditation. It was a cramped, battered vessel and Qui-Gon had doubts about its maneuverability. However, other Jedi spacecraft were already in use and there was no reason while the ship would not be able to make the trip to Duro.

Qui-Gon inhaled softly, attempting to calm the tension that had circulated through his body since their departure from Coruscant hours ago. He reached for the soothing power of the Living Force, wrapping it around his mind, releasing his concerns regarding the new mission into nothingness. _Analyze your perceptions, dismiss what you cannot change, accept only truth._ The mantra was often repeated by Jedi instructors when leading students into meditation and even after decades of service as a Jedi knight Qui-Gon could still hear Master Ridov, the master who had instructed him when he was a child, reciting those ancient words as he circled the meditation rooms.

A presence wavered on the edge of Qui-Gon’s Force sense and he slipped gradually out of meditation, opening his eyes to regard Sy’la-ki Virmu standing in the archway of the recreation room. Master Virmu frowned slightly at him, her gold eyes narrowed in the dimmed lights.

“I did not mean to disturb your meditation, Master Jinn.”

She spoke with quiet authority, stepping into the room as Qui-Gon rose gracefully from the floor. He gestured in invitation to the chairs surrounding a small table, and she dipped her head in thanks. She was of average height and build, but appeared small, almost delicate, next to his tall broad-shouldered frame. Appearances were deceiving, however, for Qui-Gon knew her species were renowned for their endurance in battle.

The dim lights that ran along the edges of the ship’s pitted ceiling gleamed over them, shadowing Qui-Gon’s pale complexion and darkening Virmu’s furrowed pinkish-gray skin. Qui-Gon was unsure of Master Virmu’s exact age, only that she was in her elder years, her stern face lined with more than just the numerous visible veins Grelians were born with. She had taken four padawans so far, her first had been the formidable Jorus C’baoth, who had finished the last of his training with her, her second had been a few years younger than Qui-Gon, a Twi’lek he vaguely remembered seeing at the temple. Qui-Gon had not had the opportunity to meet her last two padawans.

They sat across from each other, the ridges on Master Virmu’s hairless scalp catching the faint light as she bent her head in thought, her yellow eyes still narrowed. Qui-Gon waited for her to speak, interlocking his large fingers and enduring her sharp observation of him calmly. She had been briefed longer on the mission than he had and had worked with the Duros before, her insight would be valuable.

Though he preferred solo missions, Qui-Gon was not displeased that the council had assigned Master Virmu and her apprentice to the Durian mission as well. On all accounts the mission would be no more than simple investigation work of one of the orbital Duro Starshipwright Shipyards. An unknown criminal outfit had recently stolen three ships from the Duros, all without being caught or leaving incriminating evidence. Though peaceful, the Duros were extremely protective over their ships and to steal one was a grave crime within their culture. Duroian investigations had yielded little evidence, but popular opinion seemed to place the blame on Corellia, which Qui-Gon had to agree made sense. Corellia was known for its enterprising smugglers and Duro resided within the Corellian Trade Spine. Less than reputable Corellians often landed at the twenty cities and various spaceports orbiting the inhabitable world of Duro and the Duros usually turned a blind eye, as long as the Corellians did not cause trouble during their brief stays.

Still, Qui-Gon could sense uneasiness from Master Virmu, the same uneasiness that he had felt when the mission had been suggested. Master Virmu frowned again, meeting his eyes.

“The council does not foresee complications with our mission perimeters,” she stated, perhaps sensing the focus of his thoughts, or perhaps to reassure both of their uncertainty.

Qui-Gon lifted his shoulder in a slight shrug.

“That may be, but things rarely go as planned,” he remarked, returning Master Virmu’s calculating look.

He knew that she regarded him as a maverick and was skeptical of his unorthodox behavior. No doubt she had heard rumors of how exactly Qui-Gon’s missions did not go as planned.

Qui-Gon rubbed a hand over his scruffy beard, turning the subject to a more neutral one.

“What does your apprentice think of the mission?”

Master Virmu frowned, causing her stern face to appear almost harsh.

“Obi-Wan is piloting the ship.”

Qui-Gon tilted his head at the vague, clipped response. It was not his place to offer advice on the affinity between master and padawan. Yet he could not prevent another stirring of unease with how dismissive Master Virmu was, in regards to her apprentice. He had known a Grelian in his youth, and could recognize the almost imperceptible sharpened nuance to the swift response, the slight turning of the head that conveyed disregard. Grelians could be difficult to please, but they were not often judgmental of their students or friends.

Qui-Gon tried to recall what little he knew of the woman’s padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi. A human male, one who had been selected at age eleven, a young age for being chosen, the padawan was now in his early twenties. Qui-Gon did not have a visual image attached to the scant information. The temple was simply too large to memorize every member of the Jedi order.

“He must be near the trials,” Qui-Gon stated, to fill the quiet that echoed in the dusty room, watching as Virmu stiffened slightly.

She crossed her arms, the black bindings there stark against the dark brown of her Jedi tunics.

“I do not discuss my apprentice’s training.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow but refrained from continuing the conversation. Master Virmu’s aloof behavior was unusual, but not unfounded. It was not customary for other masters to speak of the Jedi trials, as it was, only the council would know for sure when a padawan was ready.

Master Virmu stood, bowing and Qui-Gon got to his feet, returning the gesture. He could sense her emotions only faintly and with great concentration, her shielding skills impressive enough to mute her mind almost completely to his. The Force flowed from them, but did not connect in the casual way that Jedi often allowed when they interacted with other Jedi. She held herself rigidly away from him and Qui-Gon wondered if she was telepathically sensitive to strong thoughts or emotions, though it was not a problem he had encountered with other Grelians.

The dim lights in the room suddenly flickered, then died. Qui-Gon looked upwards at the low ceiling, frowning as the smooth rumble of the ship’s engines stuttered. Something impacted the left side of the ship and the emergency alert lights powered on, their red glow illuminating patches of darkness. The floor lurched hard beneath their feet and Qui-Gon flung out a hand, summoning the Force to maintain his equilibrium. Master Virmu stumbled, her body tense, a hiss escaping her sharp teeth. The ship jolted again and Qui-Gon heard the beep of the main intercom being flipped on over the ship’s speakers. A voice came over the line, speaking rapidly.

“Master we are under attack by an unidentified ship, I have contacted them to cease-fire but they have not responded. We’re not equipped with the firepower to retaliate. Permission to lower ship’s gravity to boost shield power?”

The low voice was still calm, slightly accented, but Qui-Gon could hear the tension underneath the level tone.

A sudden flare along the edges of his awareness caught the controlled emotions emitting from the cockpit where Master Virmu’s apprentice was. _Irritation, worry, resilience._

Alarms began to ring throughout the ship as another hit was taken to the side, spinning the vessel. When it righted again Qui-Gon strode towards the ship’s main computer, bracing himself as they swung in tight maneuvers, the pilot struggling to evade another impact. Though Virmu’s padawan was a talented pilot, the ship was too old and cumbersome to move efficiently. They didn’t have much time before they would inevitably suffer a potentially fatal hit. Qui-Gon increased his speed into a run, using the Force to keep himself steady as the ship bucked beneath his feet.

The ship’s computer was located in the main corridor, he slid to an abrupt halt in front of it, rapidly typing in emergency access, hoping that his Jedi security codes would be strong enough to override the system. The ship’s output system was damaged in the southeast corner of the engine room, affecting the functioning of the computer. The blue holoscreen wavered in front of him, shorting out before reforming. Qui-Gon clenched his teeth as the ship swerved, the lights flickering bright red around him as he struggled to recalculate the gravity controls into the ship’s computer before the entire system crashed.

The smell of burning metal and overheated machinery permeated the air, smoke drifting ghostlike in the crimson-tinged darkness. Qui-Gon ignored the alarms blaring near him, riding out another impact against the ship’s hull as he hacked into the controls. The ship jolted and Qui-Gon grabbed unto the dented wall with one hand, pressing the ship’s comlink button only to be met with the buzzing of a disconnected intercom.

Bracing his large body against another sharp twist of the ship, Qui-Gon typed faster, his head bent over the main computer, the tip of his crooked nose almost touching the holo screen. He fed what power he could to the main com. It cut in and Qui-Gon directed his signal to the cockpit.

“I’ve overridden the ship’s automatic defense system, you’re on manual now,” he informed Virmu’s padawan shortly.

The pilot’s only response was the sudden lift of the ship, Qui-Gon’s legs bracing, then suddenly floating as the gravity was cut lose, the ship’s engines whining under the pressure as Obi-Wan fed all extra energy to the shields.

Qui-Gon felt the ship lean hard to avoid another hit, the wall becoming the floor. He gripped what was once the ceiling, threading his way along the side of the corridor, grateful that the next hit impacted on raised shields. Objects, mostly the ship’s furnishings, slid into the hall from open rooms, whatever wasn’t bolted down now thrown into the weightless dark as the ship spun again.

Virmu was suddenly in the corridor, her alien body better suited to the low gravity. The red lights gleamed off her jedi robes as she moved towards him in the smoke-filled darkness. Clinging to the tilted wall with a clawed hand, she used the other to yank her comlink off her belt,

“Obi-Wan, you must relay central power to the ship’s engines,” she ordered rapidly into the comlink.

The ship shuddered and tilted again and Qui-Gon pushed off the wall as a chair spiraled towards his head, debris still spilling from other parts of the ship and slamming into the bulkheads before floating around them.

“We can’t relay the power, it will take too much energy from the ship’s shields.” He called to Virmu over the screeching of the ship’s overheated engines.

She ignored him, continuing to snap into her comlink, becoming agitated when Obi-Wan did not follow her orders.

Reaching through the Force, Qui-Gon was able to evade the worst of the objects whirling around them. He pulled himself towards the cockpit, needing to assist Virmu’s padawan. The entire ship shook, as if grabbed by a giant hand. A powerful jolt spun them though the air. Qui-Gon struggling to find a handhold, his other arm shielding his face from the ship’s debris knocking into them.

“Find the emergency release!” Virmu yelled into the comlink, her clawed hands flailing slightly as she twisted, propelling her floating body away from a small spinning side table.

Obi-Wan’s response was impossible to hear over the screaming alarms. The Force surged with sudden power, anther explosion ripped though the ship, hurling them backwards, gravity returning as the ship’s shields crumbled. Qui-Gon was flung into a wall, his limbs tumbling, struggling to right himself, even as another jarring explosion came, pulling them into the air as if they were once again weightless. Something sharp struck the side of his head and complete and utter darkness crashed into him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who noticed the reference to Jorus C'boath? haha i couldn't help it, though i have conflicting information about how old he is in relation to Qui-Gon, i chose to make him older. will he show up again? maybe, but probably not.
> 
> artwork done by quietoceanlove - you can check her artwork out on quietoceanlove@deviantart.com


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone, here is this week's chapter. it's a long one, but i don't think you'll mind. :) please read and review!
> 
> comments are always appreciated

The blunt edge of a weapon shoved against his ribs and Qui-Gon flinched away, hand automatically closing on the object and shoving it aside. His eyelids struggled to open, feeling sticky with what must be blood. He tried to touch his scalp and someone knocked his hand away.

Qui-Gon pried his eyelids open, peering up and calling on the Force to calm the pounding pain in his head, the dizziness that came as he moved. His fit middle-aged body felt suddenly old, weighed down. He lay still, registering that the ship was stable now and running with its usual sluggish hum. The alert lights were off, the main lights operating once more, though haphazardly. The lights illuminated at different stages of brightness so rapidly, intensifying Qui-Gon’s headache. He smelled blood and calculated instantly that he was still bleeding from the head. He blinked again, the Force surging into alertness as footsteps approached him.

A humanoid male was leaning over him, bulky without being heavy, the man rivaled Qui-Gon’s height and was significantly more muscular. He did not appear to be old, despite his white dreadlocks. The man smiled, a hard boot digging against Qui-Gon’s thigh. Qui-Gon stared up at the grizzled face, feeling alarmingly disorientated. It was possible he had a mild concussion.

The large man grunted in irritation as Qui-Gon’s eyes narrowed against the varying light. Gesturing behind him, the man stepped back, tugging on the armored vest he wore. There were other men behind him, all holding blaster rifles. Many of which were rifle models outlawed in the Galactic Republic, Qui-Gon thought absently, his mind drifting almost. Quickly, he attempted to focus, looking around carefully and scanning his own body for injuries; he drew on the Force to distance himself from the pain of his head wound.

He was in the recreational area of the ship again, the surrounding space now almost unrecognizable from where furniture had broken and been upended. He lay on a pile of debris, silently confirming that along with the head injury he had a cracked rib, torn muscles along one shoulder and a slight pain in his left ankle. He was alone, besides the armed men. He attempted to search outwards with the Force, to ascertain the whereabouts of Virmu and her apprentice. His head surged with pain and Qui-Gon allowed his control on the Force to loosen. He would only weaken himself further if he pushed his injured body.

“Bring him over here,” the heavy man above him growled, his white dreadlocks draped down his back as he turned away, his hair longer than Qui-Gon’s.

The man’s skin was almost silver, though he had appeared human at first. It was possible he was of mixed interspecies descent, or a shapeshifter of some kind. The man seemed to be the leader of the ragged group, the others moving forward without question at his barked order.

Qui-Gon was grasped under each arm and wrenched to his feet. Both men who hauled him up were taller and stronger than him and had the same silvery skin tone and white hair as their leader. Qui-Gon knew that even in his injured state it would take little effort to overpower his captors, especially as his lightsaber still remained clipped to his belt. However, he needed answers as to why the group of men had so blatantly attacked their decrepit ship in the core worlds. It was a high risk move, one with little reward.

Qui-Gon allowed them to half-drag, half lead him to the table, the only piece of furniture that had remained bolted to the floor. A still useable chair was found and he was forced to sit. He let his head lull forwards over the table, feeling blood mat his long loose hair. It was important he appear weaker than what he was, though at the moment there was not much acting involved. His headache would have been excruciating were it not for the Force energy he was expanding to siphon the pain away.

His bearded jaw was grabbed, the group’s leader forcing his head up. The man stared at Qui-Gon’s expressionless face before dropping his hand away with a disgusted grunt.

“What a waste! I was hoping for at least nice cargo, instead of this and some old _vhashket_.”

He kicked a broken chair, sending the remnants flying.

“The male may still bring something Ivkel, he is not unattractive and is still strong.” One of the men in the group spoke up tentatively.

Ivkel snorted, the heavy man turning and looking Qui-Gon up and down scornfully.

“He’s too old for selling.”

The statement verified what the man’s crude look had already implied. Slavers. A cold tightness circled in Qui-Gon’s lungs; slavery existed only in the far reaches of space and while slavers would risk runs in the more patrolled outer rim to search for victims, none had ever ventured into the core worlds, as far as Qui-Gon was aware. Especially those searching for young, attractive species to force into sex slavery. Ikvel’s look had been blatant about what type of slaver he was.

Qui-Gon let his head drop forwards again, his bloodied hair falling like a curtain against his face. He fixed his gaze on the table, conveying defenselessness while he reached out with the Force, pushing past the burning pressure in his head. He could no longer wait to ascertain the health of the other Jedi on board.

Relief filled him as he faintly sensed Master Virmu nearby, alive but unconscious. He had gathered from Ikvel’s statement that the slavers knew where Master Virmu was, but he could get no other reading and was forced to conclude that Virmu’s apprentice was either dead, or his Force presence was not strong enough for Qui-Gon to locate.

He felt a sharp needle of fear inside him, an urgency. If the slavers found Master Virmu’s apprentice, there was little hope that they would leave without taking the young man. Qui-Gon stared at the scratched surface of the table, channeling the Force through his wounds, his breath ragged as each inhale tightened his damaged rib. The pain was manageable, but the disorientation he still felt through the Force worried him. He wanted to examine his head wound but did not dare move and cause alarm while he was under such tight guard.

Ikvel was pacing near the table, kicking at the debris around them.

“Old and damaged at that…” Ikvel muttered, glaring at Qui-Gon, his unshaven jaw working with irritation. “There has to be someone else…”

The confirmation that they had not yet discovered Virmu’s apprentice filled Qui-Gon with elation, even as he worked to soothe his emotions into the calmness of a Jedi. His continued silence infuriated his captors and Ikvel strode forward.

“Who piloted the ship?” the man demanded.

He gripped Qui-Gon’s scalp, pulling back on the older man’s bloodied hair, causing pain to shoot through Qui-Gon’s head injury. Qui-Gon fought the urge to conceal his pain, and cried out instead. Weakness was valuable here. He needed them to underestimate him, to think of him as nothing other than an old injured man.

A guttural word issued sharply from the white haired man, and Qui-Gon assumed it was some sort of curse. Qui-Gon’s dark blue eyes focused briefly on the slaver’s brown ones before he was struck hard, the blow knocking his head to the side, his left eye burning with pain.

“Human scum,” the man snarled, his grip tightening, white-hot needles surging through Qui-Gon’s scalp as his hair was pulled hard.

He allowed a wince, but reached for the Force with his mind, channeling his pain into its safe embrace. Mentally diverting pain was harder than normal, his concussion disorienting his grasp on the Force, his fine control slipping from him.

“Ikvel!”

Another armed man appeared in the room’s archway, a scar running across the bridge of his thin nose.

“What?” Ikvel snapped in annoyance, letting go and allowing Qui-Gon’s head to droop forwards again, blood trickling down the Jedi’s face from his scalp.

“We found another one,” the scarred slaver declared with undisguised triumph, hauling a brown-robed man into the room.

Qui-Gon remained still, looking upwards only when the man was shoved down in another chair by the table. Virmu’s apprentice met his gaze with a steely expression. The Force remained quiet, Qui-Gon unable to sense anything but the barest awareness from the other man, so strongly was the other Jedi shielding. In the flickering cycle of lights Qui-Gon caught and held large green-blue eyes, vivid against the paleness of the younger man’s face. Qui-Gon barely had to look at him to know instantly that Obi-Wan Kenobi was everything that the slavers would want.

The other Jedi appeared young and small, surrounded by much larger and older men. A bruise was rising on an elegant cheekbone, and dirt was smeared over the man’s clean-shaven jaw, mixing with blood from a scratch along his cleft chin. The padawan’s features were almost boyish, with a small nose and mouth and large eyes. But there was a sternness to his jaw, a determination in his tightly pressed lips. He was not so handsome to be extraordinary, but instead had a natural sort of beauty, the kind that caught the eye without blinding the viewer.

Qui-Gon stared into the man’s eyes, ready to channel strength to him even as his head pounded with pain, blood running down his face and seeping into the side of his beard. He expected to see fear in the younger Jedi, considering the situation, but Obi-Wan Kenobi’s expression was as closed off as his Force sense was.

Ikvel stepped forward, his hand coming to grip Obi-Wan’s jaw now.

“So you’re the pilot?” he asked roughly, jerking Obi-Wan’s head upwards.

Qui-Gon saw the other Jedi’s eyes narrow but he gave a small nod. Ikvel smiled slightly, humming a low note of approval as his eyes trailed across the younger man’s face before he slipped his hand away, curling large fingers around the long auburn padawan braid that Virmu’s apprentice had. The large man looped the braid through his thick fingers, tugging on it. Obi-Wan’s expression did not change but Qui-Gon felt his own hands clench at the offensive gesture, his irritation turned to revulsion and anger as Ikvel licked the thumb of his other silver-hued hand and slid the wet digit along Obi-Wan’s throat,

“Pretty,” he murmured, running his thumb down to the hollow between Obi-Wan’s collarbones, pulling at the man’s tunic layers.

He tightened his grip on Obi-Wan’s braid, and pushed Obi-Wan’s cloak off the smaller man’s shoulders, grinning at the men around him. Virmu’s padawan remained still, unresponsive as Ikvel grabbed the collar of Obi-Wan’s tunics with his other hand, twisting the cream-toned layers in his fist and yanking them open to expose a tattooed shoulder, a pale lithe torso.

Qui-Gon shifted but the Jedi padawan looked at him swiftly, the Force humming with warning then dissipating, Obi-Wan’s shields rising again. Qui-Gon reluctantly kept still, feeling his chest tighten as Ikvel grunted and tugged hard on Obi-Wan’s padawan braid, pulling the man’s head to the side and fingering the pale expanse of Obi-Wan’s slender neck.

“A sweet human like you is worth a lot,” The heavy man grunted, his solid build moving closer, leaning over the younger man, “but you know that, don’t you?” he smirked.

Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered to the man then away in scornful dismissal. Ikvel snarled in irritation, yanking on the slender braid, his other palm hitting hard against the younger man’s collarbone. Obi-Wan did not respond.

Qui-Gon reached out with the Force, trying to gauge the man’s mind but the padawan was shut-off from him, his mind shields insurmountable. Ikvel suddenly loosened his grip on Obi-Wan’s padawan braid, allowing the length of it to slide through large fingers.

“I hope you make more noise when I fuck you,” he said lightly, smiling and glancing at the men surrounding them who laughed obscenely.

Obi-Wan turned his head slowly, the pure silence in his movements and through the Force chilling. Qui-Gon’s hands stung with how tightly he had clenched them, blood trickling more rapidly down his face from his increased heartrate. He could not allow these men to touch Obi-Wan. He looked sharply at the younger man, conveying a need to do something but Obi-Wan did not meet his eyes.

Virmu’s padawan was calm, even bruised and half undressed, his gaze remote as Ikvel moved to stand behind him. The silver skinned man rubbed a large hand over the geometric pattern tattooed on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and upper arm.

“I see the Sh’kil have had a claim on you, and yet I can smell that you are untouched.”

Ikvel ruffled a hand through Obi-Wan’s short hair, a thick white dreadlock fell forwards as he leaned down, inhaling the scent of Obi-Wan’s skin.

This time the padawan jerked away, his expression still blank. Ikvel laughed, the other men jeering as Ikvel’s thick fingers slid down the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, tapping the top vertebra of the spine.

“You’re a difficult one,” Ikvel murmured in open amusement, and Obi-Wan tilted his head.

“So I’ve been told.”

His low voice held nothing but cold contempt, only his eyes hinted at the fear he was experiencing as he looked directly at Qui-Gon.

There was no warning, only a sensation of intense emotion and thought, the Force suddenly expanding between them, Obi-Wan’s mental shields dropping. Another mind connected with Qui-Gon’s, its power almost overwhelming as it reached purposefully, giving and taking strength, shoving aside the pain of injuries, the fear of consequences.

Obi-Wan twisted in his chair, he grabbed Ikvel by the front of the man’s vest and yanked down, using his own forward momentum as he rose upwards with Force-enhanced speed. His hand caught in the slaver’s white hair, gripping the base of the skull and slamming Ikvel’s forehead down against the hard edge of the table.

The crush of bone resounded in the room, Obi-Wan kicking his chair back at one of the men behind him. He yanked a blaster out of Ikvel’s holster, as the large slaver slid from the table to the floor, and shot another slaver who had raised his own blaster with an outraged cry.

In the half-second of that moment, Qui-Gon was already moving, disarming the man behind him with a sharp blow to the solar plexus before flipping backwards and using the Force to summon his lightsaber into his hand. He heard the _snap-hiss_ of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber join his own, catching the glimpse of a purple-blue blade slicing into a slaver who had turned his blaster rifle on them.

Obi-Wan threw the blaster he still held into the face of another slaver, his lightsaber a whirling arc as it deflected a blaster shot. The man’s motions were fast, relying on his slender build to launch himself over the head of another slaver, tumbling and landing, slashing outwards in a killing blow.

Qui-Gon felt pain still burrowing in his skull but pushed forward, drawing on the endless power of Obi-wan’s mind as their Force senses touched. Using his physical strength to his advantage, he cut through the arm of a slaver, turning to evade another who lunged at him with a vibroblade. Qui-Gon swept his lightsaber back, shoving into the man and knocking him to the ground with a searing blow that melted the armor covering his torso. He leapt forwards, his green lightsaber blurring as he disarmed the last slaver, cutting through the blaster rifle barrel smoothly. The man fell back in terror and shock, Qui-Gon’s lightsaber following his path downwards.

Stillness came and Qui-Gon straightened up, returning his lightsaber to his belt. He turned to look fully at Obi-Wan who strode towards the crumbled form of Ikvel, kicking the man over unto his back and frowning. Qui-Gon moved towards the padawan but Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Dead,” he confirmed, deactivating his lightsaber and turning to look at Qui-Gon fully.

His face had lost its expressionless gaze, though there was still determination there that gave Qui-Gon pause. Qui-Gon nodded, he glanced around the room at the sprawled forms of the slavers. He could not find it in himself to feel guilt for those that were beyond help, not after they had made it clear what they had intended to do with Obi-Wan.

He looked sharply at Virmu’s apprentice, concern surging through him at what Obi-Wan had already had to endure at the hands of Ikvel. The slender man met his eyes slowly, looking shaken for the first time, his fingers clenching into fists as he looked around. Qui-Gon refrained from speaking. He could sense that Obi-Wan did not want pity, and any attempt to comfort would be seen as such.

Slowly, Qui-Gon touched his scalp, feeling for the ragged wound along his hairline. Pain was merging back into his awareness, though it was oddly dulled, his mind still strangely buoyed after the powerful contact with Obi-Wan’s. He glanced at the other Jedi, Obi-Wan’s shields had risen again, though not to the extremes of before. His mind wasn’t concealed exactly, but it resisted Qui-Gon’s attempt to reach it and Qui-Gon pulled away politely.

He winced as he brushed the cut with his fingers and Obi-Wan strode over to him, gesturing for Qui-Gon to bend his head. Qui-Gon did so and was surprised at how carefully Obi-Wan touched him, Virmu’s apprentice frowning as he examined the wound. They were quite close, Obi-Wan having to reach upwards. He was not a particularly tall or strong man, but there was that tightly controlled power that Qui-Gon had seen. Seeing the young Jedi in battle had been like touching a live wire. He could not help but admire such passion, even as he felt concerned about it.

Slender fingers probed the wound, a whisper of Force healing slipping into him before Obi-Wan pulled away, grimacing apologetically, his bruised face almost animated after those long minutes of blankness.

“I’m afraid I’m not very good at healing, you’ll need Master Virmu’s assistance with that.”

Qui-Gon inclined his head in a slight nod. Obi-Wan looked away, he tugged at his Jedi tunic, pulling the layers back in place, covering the tattoo that Ikvel had apparently recognized. Qui-Gon turned to give him privacy, feeling somewhat nauseous at what could have transpired between the slaver and Obi-Wan, were the younger man not trained in the Jedi arts.

“Have you seen Master Virmu?” Obi-Wan asked, his low voice thicker with an indefinable accent.

Qui-Gon shook his head, inhaling slightly at the pain that movement caused. Obi-Wan’s brow creased slightly and without a word he strode from the room. The Force bond between master and apprentice was always crucial at times like these and Qui-Gon waited for Obi-Wan to lead him to where Master Virmu was, but he soon realized that Obi-Wan did not know. Unusual, considering how long Obi-Wan had been Master Virmu’s apprentice and how strong his Force abilities were. But then Master Virmu was talented in Force shielding, it was possible she was deliberately blocking contact with her apprentice.

Obi-Wan moved towards the beeping computer panel in the hallway. The holo screen blurred as he tapped into it, blinking letters indicating malfunctions. Qui-Gon stood by patiently, breathing deeply in order to circulate his pain into the Force. His left eye was swelling closed from where he had been struck by Ikval, but he did not have the ability to heal multiple injuries at once. His head wound was by far the worst damage he had sustained and needed all of the healing energy he could pull from the Force.

He watched as Obi-Wan ripped off the protective plating surrounding the computer and began twisting wires, shooting Qui-Gon a look that seemed prepared for criticism of his methods. Qui-Gon said nothing while the younger man rewired the controls, the holo screen’s malfunctioning warnings fading as Obi-Wan regained access into the main computer.

“This way,” Obi-Wan declared after surveying the heat signatures on board the ship through the computer’s sensors.

Qui-Gon followed Obi-Wan, stumbling slightly as they turned abruptly down the narrow corridor. His head was aching badly now, his adrenaline from earlier had faded and he felt weary and somewhat dizzy. It was an effort not to fall automatically into meditation and attempt to repair the damage. A healing trance would be helpful but Qui-Gon had never been very adapt at that Force skill, as it was, he still did not know how bad of shape the ship was in, or whether or not they were still on route for Duro. His injuries could wait.

They found Master Virmu in the ship’s engine room. Evidently the slavers had placed her there, for she had been tied to one of the support struts, her expression as blank as Obi-Wan’s as Qui-Gon cut through the ropes binding the elderly woman. Instantly, Virmu was on her feet, moving her limbs to regain circulation. Qui-Gon watched as the Grelian woman paced in a small circle around the room, before stopping to face Obi-Wan who straightened, his shoulders stiffening. They were the same height, but Master Virmu appeared taller with the strength of her Force signature, her mind no longer fully shielded.

“You neglected to fly us away from the danger,” she stated bluntly and Qui-Gon blinked at the coldness of her tone.

Obi-Wan remained calm, hands tucked inside his robe, his stance almost militant in its formality.

“The ship came out of lightspeed right on top of us, Master, I did not have the necessary time-“

Virmu waved a clawed hand.

“I do not need your excuses.”

Her voice remained calm, her shields already rising. A dark mahogany bruise stood out on her veined cheek, but other than that she appeared uninjured. Obi-Wan bit his lip. It was a subtle gesture of sudden vulnerability and Qui-Gon moved forwards in an odd burst of protectiveness.

“I believe Padawan Kenobi did what he could, given the circumstances.”

Virmu looked at him sharply, eyes lingering over Qui-Gon’s bloodied hair and face before she frowned, the creases in her lined face deepening.

“I will discuss this matter without your interference, Knight Jinn.”

The deliberate removal of Qui-Gon’s title of ‘Master’ did not go unnoticed in the small room. Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, but Virmu turned away from him,

“You should have used the emergency release instead of allowing the ship to be boarded and damaged,” she rebuked Obi-Wan.

The young man swallowed visibly, his eyes flickering briefly to the floor before he spoke with sudden tentativeness,

“I tried Master, but it kicked the main engines off and I-“

“There is no try,” Virmu interrupted sharply.

Qui-Gon bit the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to say something as master and apprentice stared at each other. Virmu inhaled audibly and Qui-Gon sensed her deliberately soothing out the jagged edges of her Force sense, retreating to an emotionless state.

“You disappoint me,” she declared coldly.

Obi-Wan lifted his jaw.

“That is not my intention,” he responded quietly.

Virmu pursed thin lips.

“And yet it happens alarmingly often.”

Obi-Wan glanced away.

“I apologize master,” he said softly.

His demeanor was so different from the chilling ferocity that Qui-Gon had seen when they had been surrounded by slavers. Obi-Wan suddenly looked tired and unsure, his auburn head tilted slightly, his gaze falling to the floor. Virmu turned away in dismissal.

“Go pilot the ship,” she ordered and Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan inclined his head in a painfully formal bow before leaving.

The moment that Virmu’s apprentice left, Qui-Gon stepped forward. He could not allow such blatant disregard go, particularly after having seen the humiliation Obi-Wan had already endured at the hands of the slavers. During the entire unpleasant lecture from his master Obi-Wan had neither flinched nor shown surprise at Virmu’s cruel reprimands. It was clear that the younger man was familiar with such treatment.

“I know what you wish to say, Master Jinn,” Virmu spoke, frowning, her mind shields too strong for Qui-Gon to pick up on her emotions anymore.

The pain pounding inside Qui-Gon’s skull sent a chill through him, he inhaled, attempting to regulate his body temperature.

“I do not believe you do,” he responded mildly.

She did not rise to his remark, instead she approached him, her yellow eyes examining the wound along his scalp.

“Obi-Wan did not treat your injury?”

Qui-Gon blinked, forcing aside the sudden nausea rising inside him. He had forgotten how unpleasant concussions were. The loss of control over his heart rate and breathing was maddening. He felt like a padawan again.

“He was occupied,” he managed to get out, and Virmu’s frown deepened.

She pushed him down on a low bench near the humming engines, her clawed hands picking gently at his scalp where the blood had matted and dried in his hair. The touch was clinical, but not harmful. Qui-Gon allowed his eyes to close, centering himself and feeling relief as Virmu began to heal the wound. Healing was a technique mastered by few Jedi; Virmu was obviously talented, for she had no trouble seeking the root of the pain, undoing the damage from the concussion and following it upwards, back to the moment. Impersonal threads of healing power evaporated his nausea, along with the dizziness and disorientation he had felt. Qui-Gon opened his eyes as Virmu stepped back, shaking her head lightly.

“Your brain was not harmed by the impact. The injury will not trouble you any longer and your other injuries will heal easily with time, however,” she paused, regarding him sharply, “my apprentice needs to work on his healing abilities. I can sense that Obi-Wan attempted to heal your head injury and failed.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, grateful that there was no longer any pain,

“I believe he was more concerned about your whereabouts.”

Master Virmu’s mouth thinned at his response.

“He is too concerned about others. He should focus on his duties as a Jedi first.”

Qui-Gon stood, feeling weariness separate from his earlier exhaustion. There seemed nothing that could prevent Master Virmu from criticizing her apprentice. He longed to speak on the matter, but Master Virmu’s expression was closed off. It was obvious she could sense his feelings regarding her behavior towards Obi-Wan. Speaking about them without Obi-Wan present would be invasive and serve no purpose.

“Thank you for your healing assistance,” he said instead and she dipped her ridged head in a low nod.

“You are welcome, Master Jinn,” she replied formally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vhashket - a unflattering curse word from this group of slavers
> 
> i made Obi-wan's lightsaber purple-blue, because it is actually quite purplish compared to other blue lightsabers in episode one. there's a behind the scenes moment where Ewan is talking to some of the people that constructed the lightsaber hilts, and they confirm it as purple blue. 'lilac' one guy terms it. so just in case there's confusion about that. :)
> 
> sorry about Virmu...but on the other hand, what did you guys think of badass Obi-Wan?
> 
> artwork done by quietoceanlove - you can check her artwork out on quietoceanlove@deviantart.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan's pov here! i hope you like it! comments are always welcome
> 
> also on a entirely unrelated side note, i did create a obi/qui fanvid taken from TPM in hd, here's the link if you want to check it out. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSQapb45_Cw

Obi-Wan paused outside the door of the engines room, his master’s disapproval echoing in his ears. He was surprised at his own response to it. It had been a long time since her reprimands had cut deep enough to wound him. He bit his lip briefly, tasting blood and dirt from the earlier fight. He allowed his eyelids to fall close and let the exhaustion inside him rise up, if only for a moment before he pushed it away.

In the stillness of the Force he could faintly sense the disjointed hum of Master Jinn’s mind, the man’s injury preventing smooth contact. There was nothing else. Master Virmu had blocked her mind from his again. Such abrupt severing of connection between master and padawan could be dangerous for most Jedi but Obi-Wan’s mind had always rejected a master-apprentice bond with Master Virmu, a failing of his that she addressed often, despite her own reluctance for a mental link between them. He blinked his greenish eyes open, frowning slightly. It was useless to dwell on his master’s lack of regard for him. Her behavior would not change.

Obi-Wan loosened his clenched hands at his side, tugging his brown cloak closer to him. He did not go to the ship’s cockpit immediately. Despite the hull of the vessel suffering numerous impacts, the old ship had been strongly built and from his earlier access into the computer Obi-Wan had not seen any severe damage that needed instant repair. It was helpful that the Jedi had installed self-repair features to the computer, already the lights had been restored and the ventilation unit was circulating air smoothly. Obi-Wan hesitated only a moment longer, he did not often disobey a direct order from Virmu but there were other matters that required his immediate attention.

Obi-Wan walked through the dimly lit corridors of the ship, occasionally having to climb over the broken rubble that covered the hallway floors. The smell of burnt metal stung his nose, smoke still lingering in the air from the earlier firefight.

He returned to the ship’s recreation area, his slender body slipping through the open entryway. Here, the mess was even more chaotic. Debris spilled across the metal ground and the bright red of Master Jinn’s blood was mixed with the dull burgundy of the slavers, from where it scattered in drops and smears on the floor.

Obi-Wan’s jaw tightened as he recalled Master Jinn’s damaged face, his calm expression that had changed sharply to dismay when Obi-Wan had been pulled into the room. The legendary Jedi master had not been what he had expected but then he hardly knew what to expect when it came to other Jedi. His interaction with other members of the temple had always been limited and over time friendships with fellow padawans had faded away.

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed as one of the silver-skinned slavers twitched on the floor, his body tensed defensively but he could not sense any immediate threat. The majority of the slavers were either unconscious or dead, sprawled as large motionless shapes across the floor. He tightened his fingers against the hem of his cloak sleeve, reaching for the Force to steady himself.

It was going to be difficult to release his anger at their ship being attacked, his fear when he had tried to hide from the slavers, his humiliation when he had been harassed by their leader. However, with time and meditation, he knew he could let such emotions go into the Force. It was the paralyzing numbness he had felt during the last hour that he did not know what to do with. He thought he had purged the need to kill when threatened. That particular instinct, despite years of Jedi discipline and lectures from his master, he could not let go. It ran deeper than thought in his mind, permanent from memory.

Obi-Wan released a short sigh, his breath catching in a slight wince. He had not been badly injured in the attack, but he felt slightly lightheaded, out of step with the Force. His brow creased in a frown as he moved determinedly over to one of the slavers. The man was dead from a deflected blaster shot and Obi-Wan crouched down, his cloak pooling around him as he quickly stripped the man’s belt free of any tools or weapons. He piled a vibroblade, several small blasters, and stuncuffs on the floor, setting them out of reach of the slavers, though few looked capable of moving at the moment. He searched for identification in the man’s coat pockets but wasn’t surprised that there was nothing.

Obi-Wan studied the corpse in front of him, aware of the building pressure in his mind. His pale face remained still, only his eyes moved, tracking across the man’s blunt features. He could not deny the desire to repress the thoughts that rose through the sudden fog in his head, his mind humming with the need to retreat to nothingness. The man’s silver skin was already darkening to a muted purple gray in death and Obi-Wan felt a piece of knowledge awaken somewhere in the building pressure that was pounding at his temples. A Trevsin, Obi-Wan recalled, their species no longer unfamiliar as his memory stirred.

_…the sting of sweat, the wet rotting scent of cold dirt surrounding him, the pain in his hands. black shadows in the dark, a slender man watching him then turning to speak to a much larger figure whose white haired head was bent in deference, sparse torchlight gleaming on silvery skin.…_

For a moment the room was separate from him, Obi-Wan’s breath stuttering in a gasp, eyes tightly closed. The tattoo on his shoulder burned sharply as if newly marked but it faded as quickly as he pushed aside the thoughts, drawing on the Force for control.

Obi-Wan shook his head, clenching his jaw. He stood, moving to the next slaver, his strong hands single-mindedly searching for any information he could gather from the Trevsins. The clothes were nondescript, nothing in their cut or fibers giving further clues about his would-be captors. Even the weapons were standard for what a slaver would carry.

Obi-Wan grimaced in frustration, his slender padawan braid falling over his shoulder as he bent over another dead slaver. He was keenly aware of the other Jedi on board the ship and automatically he pushed shields up over his mind, blocking out everything but what his hands were doing.

Out of the group of fourteen, only five slavers were still alive. Of the nine that Obi-Wan had fought, only one was still breathing, though he was in critical condition. The chair Obi-Wan had kicked at the start of the fight had hit the man in his throat and punctured dangerously close to the jugular. Obi-Wan examined the wound quickly but avoided touching it in case he increased the damage. It was impossible to block out the rattling rasp of air in the quiet room.

He went to the next slaver, turning over the dead body, ignoring the saber wound along the man’s chest. Obi-Wan’s breath came in short sharp waves, his only concession to handling the bodies that he had killed, to being this close to a Trevsin again.

He left the dead where they were after searching them and bound the living with the stuncuffs that each slaver carried, no doubt to restrain newly caught slaves. Obi-Wan’s small mouth tightened, his red-brown padawan braid sweeping the top of his leather boots as he bent over another man, lashing the wrists together.

The last slaver was coughing, waking, barely alert. Obi-Wan frowned, forcing himself to approach with the measured step of a Jedi. The man was twitching, the sharp mercury-scent of Trevsin blood thick in the room. The smell called up memories that pushed against the edges of Obi-Wan’s mind and he automatically turned inwards with the Force in a fierce need to shield himself further.

Through it all Obi-Wan’s fingers were steady as he reached for the slaver’s stuncuffs that hung on the Trevsin’s wide leather belt. A hard hand knocked against his arm, the slaver groaning wetly, blood bubbling along the edges of his thin lips. Obi-Wan froze, waiting to see if he would have to knock the man out, but the slaver’s hand fell to the side as he coughed and stared dazedly at the sloped ceiling.

Obi-Wan bit down on his lower lip while he bound the Trevsin’s wrists. He felt nauseous and shaken and irritated that he should be feeling this at all. It was not the Jedi way. He stood, deliberately forcing himself to breathe slowly. He did not look at the recreation room’s table where the head slaver’s body was crumbled, his face dripping dark blood along the floor from where his skull had split under the force of Obi-Wan’s blow.

Obi-Wan did not know where to begin to examine his shortcomings. He had killed in a feral burst of fear, rather than a desire to preserve life. The seeds to the dark side lived within him. How often had Master Virmu told him this? And how often had Obi-Wan proven her right? There was no explanation for why he hadn’t disarmed the men, instead of slain them. Only that beneath the rushing numbness, he had been afraid.

He stood still, his posture impeccable as he stared down at the comatose Trevsin. He had worked so hard to bury the memories, but the embers of the past had flared to flame when the Trevsin leader had touched his face, had spoken of the Sh’kil.

 _The past is never past, influences the present it does, builds the future, it can._ Master Yoda’s words came back to him, a long ago lesson. And yet the council had ordered him to purge his mind of the memories. Obi-Wan inhaled sharply though his nose, a crease between his brows as he stared at the slaver in front of him.

A presence alerted him through the Force and he turned, looking up. Qui-Gon Jinn was stepping into the small disordered room, his boots ringing against the metal floor as he moved with fluid grace and far more strength then he had earlier. He stopped a few feet away from Obi-Wan, looking down slightly from his impressive height so that their eyes met.

They studied each other, Obi-Wan watching the dark blue eyes regard him with calm scrutiny. The man’s left eye was almost swollen shut, the side of his face discolored with bruising and dried blood that had not been washed away yet. The older Jedi’s long silvering brown hair hung loose, giving the man’s face a softness that was incongruous with the amount of blood smeared over his cheek and soaked through part of his beard. Even as battered as he was, it was easy to see that Qui-Gon Jinn was a handsome man.

Master Jinn tilted his head slightly and Obi-Wan dropped his gaze. He should be piloting. His master had specifically instructed him to do so. At twenty-three he was no longer an initiate that could be excused for staring at the legendary Qui-Gon Jinn.

When he was younger, there had been padawans who had idolized the famous Jedi, hoping to be chosen by Master Jinn. But Obi-Wan had not been one of them. His own choosing had come when he was too young to be anything but surprised and pleased to have a master at all.

“You have secured them?” Master Jinn asked quietly, his voice was low, but soft, almost musical sounding as he surveyed the area with sharp eyes, stooping to regard one of the Trevsin corpses.  
Obi-Wan nodded.

“The live ones,” he responded bluntly.

He felt suddenly too exhausted to care about the formalities a padawan should pay a senior ranked Jedi. Master Jinn did not reprimand him for his outspokenness but merely nodded, turning and placing his hands on his hips, his yellowed tunics stained with his own blood.

“This situation is unsettling. I have never heard of slavers attacking in the core worlds.”

He glanced towards Obi-Wan.

“Did you find any identification?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

“Slavers would be foolish to travel with identification. And knowing Trevsins, these slavers only make up the boarding party. Their ship probably abandoned them when they didn’t return in a set amount of time.”

Qui-Gon frowned, his swollen eye trembling as it tried to blink with blood-dried lashes. The room was silent, except for the harsh breathing of the injured slavers still alive.

“Trevsins?” Qui-Gon questioned after awhile, nudging the still form of one of the slavers lightly with his leather boot.

“Their species,” Obi-Wan responded and his exhaustion felt as if it had doubled.

He suddenly wanted to be far away from the other Jedi, to have only quiet to adjust to his own whirring thoughts. He was not used to another’s mind openly reaching for his own, tentative but embracing.

Obi-Wan shivered, looking away. The room was growing cold and he made a mental note to check the ship’s heating unit. Master Jinn’s sharp gaze flickered to Obi-Wan, piercing eyes meeting his own before Qui-Gon looked away,

“I will interrogate them,” he spoke firmly and though it was not a dismissal Obi-Wan bowed politely and left without a word, ignoring how Master Jinn turned towards him, seeming to want to speak.

There was nothing to speak about. Obi-Wan had killed. And he would kill again. No matter how often he distanced himself from the past there was no way he could escape that truth.

 

* * *

 

He was grateful that he did not run into Master Virmu on his way to the cockpit. Even with their minds shielded from each other, she would be able to tell easily by his expression that he was unsettled. He did not want to hear another lecture on the merits of meditation.

When Obi-Wan entered the cockpit he felt a burst of relief seeing that the Trevsins hadn’t stripped the ship of its more valuable hardware, only the pilot’s chair had been tipped over and a small datapad that had sat on the console had fallen onto the dark metal floor.

The only lighting in the cockpit was the glowing of buttons along the control panel and the stars of space. Obi-Wan looked out at the viewport not surprised at the endlessness there. He hadn’t expected that the Trevsin ship would stay.

Obi-Wan righted the pilot’s chair, sitting down in it, his muscles twitching faintly from a contradicting mix of tension and exhaustion. The ship had automatically stabilized during the Trevsin boarding and the computer had begun to adjust repairs as soon as Obi-Wan had switched off the manual pilot. He bent over the control panel, frowning at the readout. The ship’s computer had spent too much time rewiring electrical when shield power was still at a minimum. Though they were in friendly territory, there was no say what could attack them. If Trevisins were reckless enough to attack in the core worlds he needed to ensure that they would be able to arrive at Duro without another incident.

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his short rust colored hair, recalling how hours ago he had sat in the same chair and watched as a large oddly-shaped ship appeared suddenly in front of them, attacking ruthlessly. He had done what he could with evasive maneuvering and shielding but it had been useless from the start and he had been very aware during it all that it would have been easy for the Trevsins to destroy the Jedi ship entirely.

He still felt echoes of the frustration he had felt at their ship’s helplessness when they were caught in the tractor beam and pulled alongside the slaver ship. By that time the intercom had died and he had not had been able to tell his master and Master Jinn about the boarding. Even through the Force, his warning had been unheard, Virmu had remained shielded to him and Qui-Gon had been unconscious at that time.

Obi-Wan shook his head. He was being foolish, dwelling on what had happened. He had endured far more dangerous space battles then what had occurred. It was the fact that it had happened in the core worlds had taken him by surprise. He wanted to know what the slavers were doing so near to the Galactic Republic’s seat of power. What was their intention for risking slave catching in a patrolled area?

He hissed a sigh of irritation between his teeth, standing and checking the thermal heater. Like he had thought, the heating system had been damaged in the battle. Obi-Wan tapped at the output bar but gave it up, the thermal sealer was broken and he didn’t have parts to fix it and it wasn’t something that the computer had the ability to repair either. They would have to wait until they reached Duro, which he checked, would be in seven hours.

The heat would not drop low enough to endanger them in that time. But it would still be uncomfortable, especially for him. He had never been able to regulate his body temperature as other Jedi could. It was a point of irritation for his master who found Obi-Wan’s inability to do so a weakness on planets with extreme climates.

He sat down again, checking the hyperdrive unit. It registered as malfunctioning. He tapped on the outlet screen, punching in different settings. They would have to travel at a slower speed than usual but he could pull energy from the ship’s stabilizers and still reach Duro by the end of the day. Or what accounted for day in space.

Obi-Wan leaned back in the pilot’s chair, eyes closed in thought. Jedi were taught to look for connections and already his mind raced, wondering if the Trevsins were somehow linked to the mission on Duro. He considered what he knew about the Trevsins, which was frustratingly very little, but eventually dismissed it. They were much closer to other planets than Duro’s orbital cities and when he had seen the slaver ship during the fight it had not been a Duroian constructed vessel. Still…Obi-Wan had never seen a Trevsin outside of the edges of the Outer Rim, and there were the Sh’kil to consider…

He pushed off from the pilot’s chair, clamping down on that thought in his mind and determinedly rechecking repairs. It was pointless to speculate about anything. For now, Obi-Wan would have to leave it to Master Jinn to discover what answers he could from the surviving slavers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Trevsins are another made-up species. 
> 
> the technical/sci-fi details of how the ship works and the different control systems is 90% made up and 10% actual star wars info. sorry about that :)
> 
> so this chapter was more introspective for Obi-Wan, but next chapter we should have a little bit more interaction between the other characters. chapter 4 will be up next thursday!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alright everyone here is chapter 4! Qui-Gon's pov. :) i love how this story is coming along, but some things have come up in my personal life that have made it hard to update as often. i will probably be updating every 10 days for System of Darkness, instead of weekly. :( sorry. i don't plan on leaving this WIP hanging, but i need a bit more time between updates. hope you understand! 
> 
> comments are always welcome!

Qui-Gon watched Virmu’s padawan leave the recreation room and felt regret. He should have addressed what had happened to Obi-Wan, instead of demanding answers regarding the slavers. It had been a mistake to hesitate, but he had felt Obi-Wan’s mind shields tighten at his light Force touch and he had retreated. Despite the affinity he felt towards the younger man, they were still strangers and Qui-Gon did not know if his words would be welcome.

Biting back a short sigh, Qui-Gon turned to examine the unconscious slaver that lie at his feet. Obi-Wan had bound the living very efficiently and Qui-Gon went to each restrained form, checking the severity of their injuries. Only one of the Trevsins was seriously injured, his neck cut dangerously close to a main artery. Qui-Gon frowned, straightening up from where he had leaned over the slaver. He would need medical supplies if he wanted the slavers to be alert enough for questioning. Qui-Gon glanced around the disheveled room but wasn’t surprised that there weren’t any medkits nearby. He would have to go to the medbay on the other side of the ship.

he moved swiftly through the cluttered corridors towards the stern of the ship. The lingering smoke in the halls had largely dissipated and soft beeping came from multiple areas of the ship as self-repair mechanisms kicked in. The corridor lights were still powered down to a dim glow, most likely Obi-Wan’s decision to redirect the computer’s energy to repairing their shields, Qui-Gon thought approvingly.

He ducked his head as he passed through the entrance of another corridor, wincing as the movement bothered his blackened eye. The entire left side of his face was still stinging with faint pain but there was little he could do about it. At the moment he had exhausted his limited Force healing abilities attempting to mend his cracked rib.

Qui-Gon turned down the last narrow corridor, pausing to climb over the broken remains of a small table from one of the cabins. Judging by the age and structure of the ship he doubted that it was equipped with a variety of medical supplies or a cryotomb for the deceased. The dead slavers would have to be removed when they reached Duro.

The medbay was small and sparsely filled. Qui-Gon searched through the dingy blue cabinets, squinting in the tiny room’s poor lighting. He grabbed a medical bag in one of the cabinets and swept what supplies he could find into it, pulling his cloak tighter as the ventilating system blew a gust of cold air down against the back of his neck. The ship’s temperature was steadily dropping. Qui-Gon stood still, listening for the usual rumble of the ship’s thermal heater. The noise was absent and Qui-Gon wondered if the heater had been irreparably damaged during the space battle.

He encountered Master Virmu on his way back to the recreation room, her expression as severe as ever. Qui-Gon stepped to the side politely so she could pass him without having to climb over the crumbled pieces of furniture and ship items sprawled near them. She held a gnarled hand up instead to halt him.

“It appears our captors are injured.”

Qui-Gon’s undamaged eye focused on the veined ridges of her scalp as he looked down at her.

“You have seen them?” he asked, and the lines around her mouth deepened in a frown.

“I have not. I was knocked unconscious when gravity returned to the ship. When I woke, I was restrained. I was attempting to ascertain through the Force what was occurring on the ship when you and my padawan found me.”

She gave a sharp sigh, oddly expressive for her.

“You are carrying medical supplies. Obi-Wan has just informed me that our captors are Trevsin slavers and that only a few are left alive.”

Qui-Gon blinked. He had not expected open communication between Virmu and her apprentice, given the cold interaction that he had witnessed between the two.

“Your apprentice was responsible for allowing us to find you so soon,” Qui-Gon said quietly.

Virmu jerked her head in an irritable gesture at his praise, the Grelian woman frowning slightly.

“He is responsible for taking lives.”

Qui-Gon’s grip tightened marginally on the medical bag’s thin handles, feeling that same streak of protectiveness rise inside him. He shifted his gaze to meet Virmu’s directly.

“Defense is necessary,” he stated, quoting the Jedi philosopher Kaa’tipu.

The pinkish-gray ridges on Virmu’s head throbbed slightly as she tilted her head to look up at him in the dimly lit corridor.

“Violence in times of danger is still violence,” she responded flatly with her own ancient quote.

Qui-Gon dipped his head in a small ironic bow. He stepped to the side again to let her pass, suppressing his slight irritation as she fell into step besides him. They walked in silence, Qui-Gon glancing over at Virmu. She was a much older, much sterner master then himself, similar to Qui-Gon’s own master, though she did not have Dooku’s arrogance. Her mind was cold and pragmatic from what he was allowed to see of it, not unlike what Jedi were presumed to be by civilians.

A stern master was not always unhealthy for an apprentice, if tempered with kindness or at least respect. However, Virmu seemed to have neither for her own padawan and Qui-Gon felt reminded again of his former master. He had not remained in contact with Dooku after his trials and knew that both of them would avoid visiting the temple if the other was there. Dooku’s reasons may have been their disagreements regarding their different views of the Force and Qui-Gon’s compassion towards others. Qui-Gon’s reasons dealt simply with the matter that he could not move freely within the same area as Dooku. Always their minds had clashed, even when they had had a master-apprentice bond. The bond had been useful but his relief when it was severed after his knighting had been immense. Still, despite Dooku’s aloof behavior towards him, the man had not been extreme in expressing disapproval and had chosen more often to ignore Qui-Gon’s freethinking, rather then stifle it.

“We must turn the slavers over to the Duro,” Virmu spoke in the silence, her elderly voice firm.

Qui-Gon shook his head.

“That would not be wise until I have a chance to speak with the slavers.”

Virmu looked up at him, keeping time with his quick stride without much effort, her aged hands clasped in front of her, her expression befitting a Jedi master.

“It is Republic law that we release prisoners to the nearest judicial system.”

“If the judicial system is proven capable of providing adequate security,” Qui-Gon reminded her.

She twitched her shoulder in masked irritation again.

“Duro is sanctioned by the Republic.”

Qui-Gon frowned.

“Nevertheless, I would prefer to interrogate the slavers first. They may have important information.”

Virmu paused outside the recreation door, entering after Qui-Gon.

“It is not relevant. I know why they are here.”

Qui-Gon stopped, turning to face her. Surprise coursed through him and he knew that it showed on his face, but before he could speak Virmu shook her head.

“It would be best to ask Obi-Wan,” she said shortly, but for the first time she did not sound depreciating towards her apprentice, only uncomfortable.

A weak groan came across the room and Qui-Gon turned, pushing aside his questions and focusing on the moment. The slaver whose arm he had amputated was moaning faintly, perspiration gleaming on his silver brow as he twitched on the floor. Virmu bent down near the man, she stretched her hand out, letting it hover a few inches above the cauterized stump of the Trevsin’s shoulder. Qui-Gon moved to heal the less injured slavers, relying on bacta patches and basic medical supplies while Virmu Force healed the worst injuries.

When he was finished applying bandaging to the last slaver Qui-Gon crossed the room towards Virmu. She stood in front of one of the corpses, her face studying. As Qui-Gon drew closer he realized it was Ikvel, the leader of the group that she was staring at. The Trevsin lay on his side, large and gruesome, his head caved inwards, blood puddling in a thick pool beneath him, swimming with brain matter.

“Obi-Wan killed this one.”

It wasn’t a question and Qui-Gon looked sharply at Virmu, but he did not answer her. It was not his place to speak of what Obi-Wan had done, or to mention what the slaver had threatened to do with the younger man. Uncharacteristically, Virmu blew a breath out, her face suddenly taking on more expression. The lines around her eyes creased as she furrowed her brow, veins pulsing.

“It is not easy for him,” she said suddenly, looking at Qui-Gon as if she thought the man would be the one to insult her apprentice.

Surprised, Qui-Gon could only stare at her sudden defensiveness over her padawan.

“No,” he finally said softly.

Virmu inhaled through her small nose, turning away.

“It is not meant to be.”

Though the words were harsh, her tone was not cruel, only final. She clasped her arms, fingers tugging on the black bandaging there before she turned away, leaving the room without another word.

 

* * * *

 

It was only a few minutes after Virmu’s departure that one of the slavers shifted, Qui-Gon’s sensing him wake through the Force. He moved over to the man, crouching down and watching as the slaver groaned, eyes bleary with pain. The large man had been burned badly across the torso by Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, but compared to the others, his injuries were minimal and Qui-Gon waited quietly for the Trevsin to regain full awareness. The slaver blinked, brown eyes shifting, squinting against the dimmed lights. Qui-Gon leaned forward and the slaver looked over quickly at the movement. The Trevsin said nothing, his silver-skinned face tightened in alarm and Qui-Gon could feel the dark pulse of anger and hate surging through the man. Deliberately he raised his mental shields, keeping his expression mild.

“You will tell me your name and what your reason is for attacking a civilian vessel,” he spoke calmly, his voice clear and strong.

The slaver snorted, hissing in pain and rage. His long white hair was flecked with the blood of others, his silver skin dulled slightly though not as gray as the dead Trevsins.

“Why don’t you use your Jedi mind tricks to get it from me?” he snarled with a guttural accent, his lips twisting.

Qui-Gon smiled in grim amusement.

“You are aware of Jedi and yet you chose to attack in a patrolled area, knowing that you could have easily been caught at anytime.”

The slaver sneered in response but said nothing. Qui-Gon rested his elbows against his knees, keeping his crouched stance unthreatening, his cloak pooling around him as he kept his one good eye on the slaver who was muttering under his breath now in a unfamiliar language.

“You are Trevsin,” Qui-Gon stated, waiting to see if naming the man’s species would cause a reaction.

The slaver didn’t blink, his glare unchanged as he stared up at the Jedi. Qui-Gon tilted his head, scrutinizing the man’s face, still tight with tangible pain.

“If you wish to avoid detainment in a high security prison it would be wise to tell me what you were doing here.”

He kept his voice calm, his body relaxed, but his dark blue eyes did not look away from the man. The Trevsin snorted again, his own eyes almost black with rage.

“You’ll imprison me anyway, Jedi. I’ve got no guarantee of freedom from your kind.”

Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow.

“It is hard to believe you understand the concept of freedom, given your career choice,” he stated dryly.

He leaned forward slightly, his hair sweeping over his shoulders, his undamaged eye never leaving the slaver’s.

“One of my colleagues have informed me that your ship fled while you boarded. He implied that it is common for Trevsins to abandon one another.”

His attempt to get another response was unexpectedly successful, the Trevsin giving a painful bark of laughter.

“He would know…wouldn’t he?” the Trevsin gasped out, wincing, his eyes gleaming in the bright lights. The slaver jerked his head towards the gruesome corpse of the Trevsin leader.

“Ikvel wanted to fuck that pretty little _kaslator_. The idiot thought your Jedi whore was fresh meat.”

Qui-Gon kept his face expressionless.

“You don’t think he is?” he asked mildly, focusing entirely on the slaver.

Details sharpened further as he examined the slaver’s distinct pained pant for breath, the scar along a stubbled jaw, the sleek white hair, dirty and disheveled from the fight. The Trevsin merely sneered again, turning his head to look up at Qui-Gon.

“He has the mark of Sh’kil. Nobody messes with the Sh’kil.”

Qui-Gon frowned, rubbing a hand along the edge of his blood-stained beard as he briefly considered the name. Ikvel had used it earlier, when the slaver had seen the tattoo on Virmu’s apprentice, but the name itself remained unfamiliar.

“Tell me about the Sh’kil,” he asked and the Trevsin’s eyes snapped away.

“Nobody messes with the Sh’kil,” he repeated and refused to answer any more of Qui-Gon’s questions.

Reluctantly, Qui-Gon stood to leave. The other slavers were still unconscious. He would have to wait until later to interrogate them. So far he had only uncovered more questions, not answers. Virmu had implied that she knew what the Trevsin slavers goal had been but had said nothing, leaving him to attempt to cajole the slavers into talking. _It would be best to ask Obi-Wan,_ she had said. Qui-Gon had no desire to make Virmu’s padawan feel guilty over anything, or to unknowingly show disapproval towards the young man. But he needed answers. They were approaching Duro soon and he did not know how much longer he would have to question the slavers.

The Trevsin he had already questioned would not be a threat, as he was restrained, but Qui-Gon still thought it best to use a Force command to send the man into a deep sleep. He stood in the quiet disordered room, brow knit in thought as he considered how much he still did not know about the situation.

He turned abruptly, moving out of the room and down the narrow corridor towards the cockpit. The air had grown even colder in the ship during the brief interrogation and Qui-Gon drew on the Force to raise his core body temperature. He suspected a broken valve in the thermal sealer of the heater, as that was sensitive equipment and often the first to fail in a space battle.

He hesitated outside the cockpit door, reaching out with the Force and connecting against nothing. Virmu’s padawan was tightly shielded against his mind much like Virmu had been. Qui-Gon paused, wondering if Obi-Wan could sense him outside the door. The brief moment where their minds had touched during battle had been remarkable and Qui-Gon was very aware of the younger man’s powerful Force ability.

The door slid open as he pressed the access panel; he stepped in. The room was dark and cold, the glowing lights from the control panel gleaming on the man sitting in the pilot’s chair. Obi-Wan turned his head slightly to the side, but did not look up as Qui-Gon entered the cockpit. A thick dark blanket was wrapped around his torso, falling in deep folds around his neck and shoulders. It made him look young and out of place and Qui-Gon wondered why the younger man didn’t use the Force to adapt to the colder temperature. He stepped forward, moving through the shadowy area to sit down in the co-pilot’s chair. Obi-Wan looked over at him. He was still slightly bruised from the fight but the lack of proper lighting in the area disguised the damage.

“You’ve interrogated the slavers already?” Obi-Wan asked and Qui-Gon was surprised again at the richness of the younger Jedi’s voice, the faint rolling accent there.

Qui-Gon looked closer at the young man, examining the shadows that held the smaller shape. Even in the dark he could see how exhausted Obi-Wan was. He nodded, wondering if he should clarify but Virmu’s padawan did not question him further. The younger man turned his gaze to look out at the emptiness of space. In the darkness of the cockpit the man’s eyes were colorless, almost gray.

“Are you alright?” Qui-Gon asked softly.

Obi-Wan looked at him sharply. It was a measuring look, one that Qui-Gon would have expected from a much older man.

“What are you referring to?” the younger Jedi finally asked, his body now taunt with alertness, smooth jaw lifted slightly.

Qui-Gon felt a desire to soothe the sudden tension in the room, to return to the quiet calm that had been between them briefly before. But he needed to address what had happened, to find answers.

“You don’t know?” he said quietly.

Obi-Wan’s lips thinned slightly, the younger man’s eyes flickering away before returning to Qui-Gon’s with his unique brand of intensity. There was a pause, then Obi-Wan spoke firmly.

“It is difficult to know what your concern may be about, Master Jinn. Since it is towards me, it is possible you are bothered about my master’s treatment of me, the toll of fighting an unequal battle in space, the slavers intentions towards me, or the fact that I killed eight people.”

The blanket had fallen off of one of his shoulders and Obi-Wan tugged it back up, tucking his hands under the hem of the blanket to keep them warm. His face had sharpened into the same stern expression that Qui-Gon had seen on Virmu. But there was more than just severity or exhaustion to the planes of that youthful face. Qui-Gon rested his palms on his knees, regarding the view of space before speaking.

“You may call me Qui-Gon,” he said softly, surprising himself.

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed in thought, but his face relaxed slightly. He said nothing though, only turning and pulling the edge of the blanket up around his shoulders more tightly, staring out at the same whirring mass of stars in front of them. A long moment passed. It was not unpleasant to sit in such quietness and though the younger man’s mind was still shielded to him, Qui-Gon could sense that his presence was not unwelcome.

“The slaver I spoke to mentioned the Sh’kil,” he said carefully, hoping his words would not harm the peaceful silence that had fallen between them.

Obi-Wan did not appear startled by the information, but the tiredness seeped deeper into his frame. The younger man learning further back into the pilot’s seat, hands knotted in the fabric of his cloak and the dark blanket.

“Yes,” he said, the one word conveying everything and nothing.

Qui-Gon tilted his head, reaching out with the Force and automatically retreating as he encountered Obi-Wan’s superior shielding.

“The way that slaver touched you –”

He broke off as Obi-Wan shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter,” the younger man stated flatly.

Qui-Gon grimaced, wincing as his swollen eye protested such movement, he searched the young man’s face in the dark area. Obi-Wan stared straight ahead, brow creased in determined silence.

“It _does_ matter,” Qui-Gon responded forcefully and was surprised when Obi-Wan stood abruptly, moving to check the heating unit in the ceiling, one hand gripping the blanket around his shoulders so that it wouldn’t slide off.

“I was not harmed, Master Jinn, therefore it doesn’t matter.”

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it. Obi-Wan had made it clear that he did not want to discuss what had happened, but it bothered Qui-Gon that the younger man would so quickly dismiss it. He waited until Obi-Wan sat down again, the younger man pulling the blanket more tightly around him, his pale face sinking slightly into the cloth folds. He was shaking faintly, the tips of his strong slender hands reddened, obviously chilled by the cold temperature. Qui-Gon felt his concern heighten. The ship was much colder then what was standard but Obi-Wan should have been able to adjust his body temperature with the Force. He was tempted to offer his cloak for warmth but decided against it, knowing that Obi-Wan would refuse anyway. The younger man seemed proud in that way.

They gazed out at the barren edges of space for long moments, their breathing in synchronization, the ship’s engines running smoothly on autopilot. Qui-Gon looked over at Virmu’s padawan, watching the light from the control panel glint on the long slender braid, the paleness of the face, highlighting the cheekbones, making Obi-Wan appear gaunt and ethereal in the darkness.

“Do you wish to talk?” he asked.

The younger man’s brow creased in a small frown.

“Would you listen?” he asked bluntly, still staring straight ahead.

Qui-Gon regarded the smaller man steadily, his mind reaching automatically towards the muted Force presence of the other Jedi, unexplainably drawn to the mystery of the younger man.

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan’s frown eased slightly, he appeared confused for a moment, before a small faint smile graced his lips, the first that Qui-Gon had seen from the serious man.

“Yes, I think you would,” the smaller Jedi responded almost to himself, lapsing into quiet again.

They did not move, Qui-Gon’s body focusing on his own exhaustion, counting the minutes until their arrival at Duro and wondering if there would be time to rest or meditate before they landed. Obi-Wan stood suddenly again, turning to face Qui-Gon in the shadowy cockpit,

“Come,” he said sternly, gesturing to Qui-Gon’s battered face, “let’s clean you up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise more answers in the next chapter!!! i know that there are still confusing things about the plot so far!
> 
> i didn't realize until after i wrote this that Qui-Gon literally thinks everything Obi-Wan does is amazing. but it is, so who can blame him?
> 
> i'm hoping that Virmu has a bit more complexity to her...however i'm not saying i'll ever make her really likeable in the story :)
> 
> Kasalator: a explicit derogatory Trevsin term for a young male.
> 
> everybody looking forward to Obi-Wan healing Qui-gon in chapter 5? i am!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! sorry about the wait, today is moving week and that's making things a little crazy where i'm at. :) on the upside, i was able to give you this lovely long chapter from Obi-Wan's pov, filled with emotional angst and hurt/comfort. hopefully i answer a few questions as well :). i promise that the next chapter will actually have to do with the situation with the Duros. 
> 
> comments are very much appreciated!
> 
> also i did make another obi/qui video if you want to see it, this one has a story that goes with it and everything, so i hope you like it! here it is - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beSpfbs6qbI

The ship’s bathroom was small and as depressing as the rest of the ship’s interior, the walls rusted from where water had seeped underneath chipped tile. Four toilet stalls lined one side of the room while three showerheads were built into the low ceiling of the opposite side of the room. There weren’t any doors or curtains for the showers and it was apparent that the area wasn’t well used. A low metal bench ran down the middle of the room and small alcoves in the wall near the sink held a few dusty towels.

One of the showerheads was sputtering water from where a knob had fallen off and turned the water on. Obi-Wan waved a hand, using the Force to twist the knob shut. He stepped back to avoid dragging his robes over the drenched tile floor. Qui-Gon stood in the doorway watching him and Obi-Wan looked away. It was strange, being so close to another Jedi. It had been a long time since he had spoken to someone without Master Virmu beside him.

Obi-Wan fingered the edges of his cloak sleeve, folding his arms over the blanket he wore around his shoulders. He gestured to the bench, reaching for a towel while Qui-Gon stepped into the bathroom, his head nearly brushing the ceiling as he moved over to the bench. The older Jedi sat, his gaze mild as Obi-Wan held a towel under the rusted sink tap, wincing when cold water poured over his trembling hands.

The temperature had fallen in the ship to the point where Obi-Wan could see his breath. His fingertips were red with cold making the small white scars on his hands starkly visible. He pulled the blanket closer, reminding himself that they were only a few hours from Duro’s shipyard. He could handle the cold, it was explaining to another Jedi why he couldn’t use the Force to maintain his own body heat that was frustrating. Thankfully, Qui-Gon had not yet asked.

Silently, Obi-Wan walked over to Master Jinn, stopping in front of the man and examining the Jedi’s wounds more closely. Qui-Gon’s jaw was bloodstained, as was his cheek and forehead from where blood had run freely from his head injury. His hair was sticky with it, but that could be easily washed out later. The swollen and blackened eye was what worried Obi-Wan. The cheekbone was unbroken, but it was clear that Qui-Gon had been struck brutally. Obi-Wan reached out, very gently touching the other man’s jaw, feeling the softness of the man’s beard as he tilted Qui-Gon’s head upwards slightly.

“Hold still,” he murmured, frowning in concentration as he gently pressed the wet towel to Qui-Gon’s lower cheek and jaw, avoiding applying direct pressure to the blackened eye.

Master Jinn blinked, a slight reaction of discomfort, but he remained calm, his one eye flickering up to Obi-Wan’s face before closing, body relaxing subtly. Obi-Wan carefully cleaned away blood, mindful of the bruising on that side of the man’s face. He could trace the individual bruises along the cheekbone from where knuckles had impacted. Obi-Wan felt his mouth tighten in anger at the sight. It was odd, his protectiveness over the other Jedi. Master Jinn was a formidable duelist, and skilled with the Force. He had served as a Jedi knight for decades and had had many successful missions accomplished. There was no reason for Obi-Wan to feel protective over the man.

He tilted Qui-Gon’s head back further with a gentle nudge of his scarred fingers, feeling the surprising slenderness of the throat, the warm heat of another’s skin. He was close enough to see each individual hair of the man’s beard and mustache and the fine lines of age around the mouth and across the brow. Healing was not an area Obi-Wan excelled in and he rarely enjoyed being in close proximity with other people, but somehow it did not bother him to be this close to Qui-Gon, to feel the man’s warm breath ghosting across the back of his cold hand.

Master Jinn’s long silvered hair fell heavily against the younger man’s fingers as Obi-Wan worked and Obi-Wan shifted, pushing the hair back and tucking it behind the older Jedi’s ear so he could finish cleaning the man’s injuries unhindered. He felt Master Jinn stir slightly, looking down to see the man had opened his eye. The other eyelid fluttered almost open and Qui-Gon’s gaze turned inward, Obi-Wan feeling the Force stirring around him, his own mind tightly shielded but not unaware of it.

“The swelling should go down in a few hours. I’ve begun Force healing there, now that my rib is no longer injured,” Qui-Gon said quietly, the slight accent to his voice adding a natural lightness there.

Obi-Wan pulled back, going to wet the towel in icy water and returning, pushing up his sleeves despite the frigid air so that he could work easier.

“Broken rib?” he guessed shrewdly, relieved when Qui-Gon shook his head.

“Just cracked. I believe it happened before the slavers arrived.”

Obi-Wan looked down at the towel he held, his hands were red with cold, the white scars along his fingers and palm standing out as sharp little lines. A jumbled flash of memories tugged at him, startling with their increased vividness. Resolutely, Obi-Wan ignored it. he did not want to think about the slavers. He still could not reconcile with the idea that he had killed brutally. It was not jedi-like. Obi-Wan frowned.

“What are you planning to do with them?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain level.

Qui-Gon blinked, a quick flicker of the eyelashes that Obi-Wan caught up close before both eyes peered up at him, the left one was still mostly swollen, red from broken blood vessels within the eye. The other was a deep vivid blue, staring up at him before Qui-Gon looked away, grimacing very slightly as Obi-Wan gently lay the cold towel against the man’s blackened eye, hoping to lower the swelling.

“I need to interrogate them again, before our arrival at the shipyard. I will have to discuss the matter with Duros security when it comes to imprisonment.”

Obi-Wan bit his lip lightly, holding his icy hands steady, his breath escaping from him in a visible vapor in the freezing room.

“You think imprisonment is enough?” he asked, keeping his gaze slightly above Qui-Gon’s head.

Master Jinn looked at him, openly bewildered.

“They’ve broken the law.”

Obi-Wan lifted his shoulder, his gaze deliberately turned from Qui-Gon. He felt a gentle probe along his mental shields but he ignored it. It was difficult to discuss this, the cold air from the ship stirred up memories of colder planets and endless waiting. He inhaled slowly through his nose, turning his gaze to a scrape along Master Jinn’s neck, he lifted the wet cloth from Qui-Gon’s blackened eye, moving to dab carefully at the scrape.

“What do you think they deserve?” Qui-Gon asked and Obi-Wan frowned.

He was not accustomed to people asking him what he thought or wanted. As a padawan, it was not his place to say how he felt. But Master Jinn was odd, the older Jedi genuine in his need to know Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan felt his mouth move in a small grim motion.

“Something more.”

His voice came out harsh in the silent room. The soft dripping of water on cracked tiles filled the silence between them. He looked at Qui-Gon, the man’s head was still tilted back, his jaw still cupped in Obi-Wan’s hand, his expression studying. Obi-Wan looked away, shivering at the coldness seeping through the room. His breath appeared in a small cloud and he moved his numb fingers away from Master Jinn’s skin, regarding the bruising critically now that the man’s face had been cleaned.

Obi-Wan stepped back, setting the cloth on the bench and flexing his numb fingers. The older Jedi stood. He was much taller then Obi-Wan, broader along the shoulders and long limbed. It was a frame that might have once been clumsy, mis-proportioned in his youth but now moved with sureness and grace. Obi-Wan looked away, he felt scrawny next to the taller Jedi, reminded of his own frailties as he drew the blanket around his shoulders closer to his cloaked body. His ears stung with the cold air, the tip of his nose reddening slightly. Qui-Gon, like any proper Jedi was unaffected by the cold, he moved easily to one of the dingy mirrors, glancing briefly in it before touching his still bloodied hair.

“Thank you,” he said quietly and Obi-Wan nodded, feeling irritation at his own contentment in Qui-Gon’s presence. It would not do to relax his guard, not even among other Jedi.

“Are you prepared for the Duros?” Qui-Gon asked lightly and Obi-Wan shifted, unrolling his sleeves and tucking his freezing hands under his blanket again.

“I have researched them extensively. They are reserved, but not unfriendly,” He answered matter-of-factly.

Qui-Gon nodded in response and Obi-Wan hesitated,

“It is possible that we will be expected to solve the mission as soon as we arrive,” he said quietly, “the Duros do not take lightly to anyone touching their starships.”

He felt out of step stating his own speculation, it was not something he would do if he were asked the same questions from Virmu, but Qui-Gon invited trust simply due to his lack of disapproval as he mulled over Obi-Wan’s words.

“They are an ancient species and have played their part in the construction of the republic but yes they are very fond of their starships.”

The larger man smiled.

He was still bruised, with dried blood in his long hair, but his smile held a soothing quality to it that Obi-Wan did not fully understand. He met the man’s gaze almost sternly, waiting for such a look to disappear, but Qui-Gon said nothing, his hands clasped behind his back, his bloodstained tunics hanging on him.

“It is likely we will have to work closely with local security. I assume your master’s knowledge of the Duros is sufficient?”

Obi-Wan dipped his head in a bow of respect.

“Master Virmu is a skilled diplomat. She has visited the Duros several times with her other padawans.”

It was the proper response to say and Obi-Wan felt almost mechanical doing so. He wanted suddenly to shut himself away, to trace the painful memories that were rising in his mind and release them through the Force, before they ruined him. Qui-Gon seemed about to speak when the tap of footsteps stopped him. They turned, Virmu appearing at the door.

“why are you not piloting?” she asked Obi-Wan abruptly, and he shook his head, not wishing to speak.

She nodded in her own silent response and slipped into the room, the space seeming to grow smaller, more dingy under her firm gaze.

“I believe that the slavers are not a threat, we should release them to the Duros.” She spoke without aplomb, directly to Qui-Gon, ignoring Obi-Wan who glanced at Qui-Gon, waiting to see what the other Jedi would do.

Qui-Gon’s mouth twitched in a very slight motion, but his voice was almost bland when he spoke.

“I have not verified that they are not a threat yet.”

Virmu crossed her arms, regarding Qui-Gon with sharp eyes.

“I was under the impression that you were questioning them.”

Qui-Gon stepped away, his expression unchanging.

“I was under the impression that you knew why they were here,” he responded lightly.

Virmu’s eyes narrowed, flickering to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan looked away, his mouth dry. She had made her suspicions clear to him when they had talked briefly in the cockpit and he knew that she would have no qualms speaking them.

“Obi-Wan knows,” she said quietly and Obi-Wan bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, turning away to stare at the still leaking showerhead.

His stomach churned, his senses heightened as memories pushed against the barriers of his mind, his heart racing.

“We don’t have any proof,” he said softly, forgetting momentarily that Master Jinn was there, that anyone was there except him and the remembered icy darkness.

Virmu sighed through her nose, but she stepped forward, her gaze stern, though not unkind.

“You know,” she repeated more forcefully, and Obi-Wan bit his lip, glancing away before meeting her eyes.

“What do you expect me to say?” he asked, speaking not in anger but exhaustion.

He could not keep doing this, balancing this line between forgetting and remembering.

“Did the slavers threaten you further?” Master Jinn cut in smoothly, stepping forward slightly, blocking Virmu’s path and locking eyes with Obi-Wan, his face tight with concern.

Obi-Wan grimaced and looked away. He was tired of having to explain himself, to remain calm and precise. He drew on the Force for control, tightening his shields further.

“I don’t believe they were here for that reason,” he addressed Virmu, glancing over at Qui-Gon, “However, Master Jinn is correct, the slavers must be questioned further before releasing them to the Duros.”

Virmu’s mouth thinned,

“That is your opinion,” she stated coldly, and Obi-Wan felt more then saw Qui-Gon bristle at her words.

“Obi-Wan is allowed his opinion,” the taller Jedi said, hands on his hips, his agitation slipping through his calm façade and battering against Obi-Wan’s shields.

Virmu flickered gold eyes over to him, the wrinkles in her skin appearing deeper in the harsh light.

“I am not denying that, but as his master I have authority over the matter and I do not think that this incident should overshadow our mission on Duro.”

Obi-Wan remained quiet, his eyes closing a fraction too long for a blink, he violently pushed away the thoughts and remembered sensations whirling inside him as Virmu continued speaking.

“The slavers were looking for my padawan, therefore it is my duty to make the decision regarding what should become of them.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes widened slightly and Obi-Wan stared resolutely at the opposite wall. He knew that Virmu would say something and spoke before his master said anything more.

“I do not think it likely they would search the Core Worlds for me.”

“They have done so in the Outer Rim,” she reminded him and Obi-Wan turned away.

“For that I am sorry,” he said quietly, his iciness matching her own.

She watched him, yellow eyes looking deep into his greenish ones.

“The fault is not yours, but the fact remains that there is precious little space where this is not a concern.”

Obi-Wan shut his eyes again, overcome with nausea as his mind leapt from image to image, the past vibrating through him like the struck string of an instrument.

“It is a coincidence,” he whispered almost to himself and forced his eyes open.

Virmu frowned.

“Coincidences do not exist.”

She turned abruptly to Qui-Gon.

“The slavers should be turned over to the Duros. They are unimportant now that they have been apprehended.”

Obi-Wan breathed in cold air, his lungs protesting, his body shivering. He struggled to inhale at a calming rate, recognizing the panic for what it was, the fear gnawing at his bones so deeply that he brought a hand up to his head, pushing out with the Force, trying to escape losing control. Qui-Gon was looking sharply at him and Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, it had been months since he had had a panic attack, he would not shame himself by having one again.

He looked down at the dark gray blanket he wore draped around himself and felt foolish and weak. He had allowed Master Virmu to sense his discomfort of the situation when they had spoken earlier, it was understandable that she would pursue the matter. She did not speak to hurt him, only to state the truth. It was quite possible that the slavers where there because of him. there had been earlier incidents where that had been the case.

A sudden soft beeping broke the dead quiet and Obi-Wan strode to the edge of the room, pulling open the circuit box imbedded into the wall and checking the readout cycling across the small screen there,

“The computer finished repairing the hyperdrive, I need to recalculate the auto repair features,” he said softly, glancing up towards his master, Virmu gave him a small nod of permission and Obi-Wan turned, leaving quickly.

As the door slid closed behind him, he heard Qui-Gon speak, quiet enough that Obi-Wan could not make out the words. Obi-Wan walked through the ship, shivering. The cold was becoming intolerable for his body, his mind racing through the conversation he had left behind. He knew Master Jinn was confused but Obi-Wan could not bring himself to speak any further on the matter. He could barely think about what was tugging at the edges of him, threatening to break him apart if he opened his mouth. He sighed, he was exhausted and unable to imagine sleeping in the few hours before their arrival.

Obi-Wan entered the darkness of the cockpit, going to the control panel and resetting the repair sequences. He checked the heating unit again though he knew he would have to wait to repair it. The Duros were as famous for their advanced technology as they were for their beautifully crafted ships. It would not be difficult gathering the parts for a new heating unit. Obi-Wan was skilled enough at maintenance that manual repair would not be a problem.

He flexed his numb fingers, breathing out a visible puff of air. He checked the time again, two hours until their arrival on Duro. The ship was moving faster then he had anticipated now that the hyperdrive was auto-repaired. Obi-Wan stood for a moment in the cockpit, checking the controls and working so that his mind stayed away from the overwhelming thoughts and memories. _The past is the past_ , he reminded himself, breathing tightly inwards and clenching his chattering teeth. He needed time to examine his emotions, to lower his shields and allow himself time to deal with the anger and fear that pounded inside of him. It was not possible that he would be able to now though, not with the situation at the Durian shipyard, and not in the presence of two Jedi masters. Control. Obi-Wan frowned; he must maintain control.

He allowed a moment for his eyes to close, to draw on the endless power of the Force, feeling the distant presence of the slavers on the ship, the blankness that he had come to recognize as Virmu’s sealed-off mind, and Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan’s eyes opened, brow creasing in surprise. Qui-Gon he could sense much clearer then before, now that Obi-Wan was actively reaching out with the Force.

Master Jinn was a bright presence swirling up against his own, flooding with thoughts and feelings. It was overwhelming, the massive amount of emotion, carefully contained but constantly circulating throughout the older man. Obi-Wan blinked. He was aware of Master Jinn’s support of the Living Force as that was a philosophy that many Jedi did not agree with. The Unifying Force, the overall picture of what the Force was guided many, including Obi-Wan.

He could not understand the way Qui-Gon was able to process the Force as an organic quality. Each living organism in the universe gleamed with some part of the Force and Master Jinn seemed to absorb that, channeling it through his mind without allowing it to influence or weigh him down. It was vastly different from the way other Jedi’s minds worked and Obi-Wan was tempted to move closer and linger in that warm mental space, watching the Force ebb and flow through Qui-Gon’s presence, but he pulled away swiftly instead, locking down his own mind with stronger shields. It was important no one sense him, important that he remain separated from other minds. If there was one thing he had learned from Virmu it was the ability to never confide, never burden other’s with his own thoughts and emotions when he could manage it himself. And he could manage, he would.

Obi-Wan stepped back from the pilot’s console, bracing himself against the cold as he pulled the blanket he wore off and strode determinedly from the cockpit, cloak billowing behind him. He knew that he should not return to the recreation area. That the sight of the Trevsins would only worsen the sloppily repressed memories unable to be held back by his own strength of will. Obi-Wan went anyway.

Outside of the recreation area, he pushed a hand through his short hair, biting his lip only briefly before straightening up and stepping inside the doors. It was strangely calming, the tension in his veins slowing as he moved forwards. The wreckage and blood seemed to belong to some other time and Obi-Wan moved around the room, eyes darting, looking for a conscious slaver.

His heart jolted slightly as his eyes met brown ones. The slaver who had found him in the cockpit earlier was looking up at him, familiar for the distinctive scar that ran across his nose, his eyes narrowed. Obi-Wan walked swiftly towards him. He stood over the bound man, keeping his face expressionless.

“ _Esh-urk la viskur_ ,” the slaver hissed, and Obi-Wan tilted his head.

The language was thick, unwieldy and he recalled the harsh sound of it in darkness, the icy coldness in the recreation room mimicking the freezing temperatures he had once endured.

“Why are you here?” he demanded.

The slaver sneered, coughing, burgundy blood seeping from the torn lower lip of his mouth.

“Sh’kil filth.”

Obi-Wan shifted his gaze away slightly, his only concession to the need to gasp in the cold air, to react to the past clambering inside him, his heartbeat accelerating.

“I have no business with the Sh’kil,” he stated, his voice dropping slightly lower, authoritative.

“They have business with you by the looks of your pretty hide,” the slaver hissed.

He scanned Obi-Wan, eyes lingering obscenely before he turned away, coughing further.

“Are you here because of them?” Obi-Wan asked in the quiet, determined to remain still and meet the Trevsin’s eyes.

The silver-skinned man grinned macabrely, showing bloody teeth.

“I just follow orders, much like yourself.”

He shifted, tugging slightly on the cuffs around his wrists. Though obviously injured from where a blaster shot had seared through his shoulder he seemed infused with energy. Obi-Wan tilted his head, his padawan braid brushing against his neck as it hung forwards.

“You’re a runner,” the slaver spoke harshly, looking Obi-Wan up and down again before spitting blood out over Obi-Wan’s boots, “but you’ll never be able to run far.”

Obi-Wan resisted the violent urge to lash out at the man, his hands tightening in fists, unable to repress a slight shiver at the cold.

“What do you know?” he ground out, pushing outwards with the Force, hand fluttering as he encountered a mind dark and filthy, like something festering beneath a rock.

The slaver twitched as Obi-Wan’s mind latched against his own and Obi-Wan knew in a moment he could crush the man, break him without ever touching him, so strong was his own rage and desperation. But the thought revolted him, to use the Force to kill was only in times of extreme danger and Obi-Wan could not return to that. He would not.

He searched the mind carefully, pulling out scraps of information but nothing concrete, nothing certain. The Trevsin was correct, he only followed orders. He did not know what their reasons were for being in the core worlds other then slave catching. Obi-Wan retreated and the Trevsin stuttered a breath out, thick blood leaking from his mouth, his eyes vacant before darkening with rage, he snarled wordlessly, trying to push himself upright.

“You fucking whore…” he hissed out in pain and confusion, “get away from my mind.”

Obi-Wan regarded him calmly through a blurred haze, feeling the odd detachment that mind-touching a non Force-sensitive gave him.

“I required information,” he said quietly, his voice almost dream-like.

It was strange, the disorientation of it all. Colors were seeping back into his vision, the room brightening and Obi-Wan felt the sudden return of cold, the smell of blood and the ship’s overworked engines. He folded his hands inside his cloak sleeves, shivering. The slaver was cursing in his own language, glaring at Obi-Wan with undisguised malice.

Obi-Wan remained quiet, he had learned nothing usable from the slaver, there was no point in staying any longer. He turned and left, ignoring the curses thrown after him. His mind felt sore, raw with exposure to something so depraved. He had seen clearly in the Trevsin’s mind how the man had wanted to use him. Examining the memories of the slaver’s mind during the attack seemed to trigger odd recollections and disjointed thoughts that Obi-Wan was unsure whose were.

He rubbed at his eyes, stumbling slightly. He needed sleep, needed to meditate at the very least. But they would reach the shipyard too soon, and the cold would prevent him from being able to relax enough to mediate. He settled for returning to the ship’s bathroom, needing to shower away the dirt and blood still sticking to him from the earlier fight.

Obi-Wan passed Master Jinn on the way there, stepping aside politely, to allow the larger man room to pass. Qui-Gon looked at him, the man’s silver-brown hair pulled partially back and dark with water from showering, droplets seeping from the long strands and wetting the shoulders of his clean tunics. He looked suddenly different, more Jedi-like then earlier and Obi-Wan found it hard to imagine that he had been allowed to clean the older man’s wounds, that his mind had reached for the Jedi master’s so easily, that Qui-Gon had reached back in return.

Obi-Wan swallowed, it was difficult to think of their earlier familiarity, now that he felt so unclean after touching the slaver’s mind. Qui-Gon looked concerned at the disquiet that Obi-Wan knew he could not mask. Obi-Wan lifted his jaw instead, meeting Qui-Gon’s eyes sternly. They paused only for a few seconds, regarding one another with silent scrutiny before Qui-Gon offered a small smile, moving around Obi-Wan and continuing on his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Esh-urk la viskur - "what do you want?" in Trevsin
> 
> i don't know about you guys, but i'm loving how Obi-wan and Qui-Gon are both clueless to their fascination with each other. that doesn't happen in all my fics, but i like how it's working out in here. also that scene of Obi-Wan taking care of Qui-Gon was so fun to write.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! i'm so sorry this chapter was so late, between moving and preparing for college i haven't had as much time to write. however this chapter is finally here, and it's Qui-Gon's pov. initially i was going to make it longer, but i ended up deciding to split the chapter, so i think the next chapter will also be Qui-gon's pov. :) 
> 
> just a note for you guys, i will take a short break for a few weeks when i'm finished with part one of this fic. the way it's looking there will be two parts to this fic, and the first should end around chapter sixteen, so there's still a ways until then :)
> 
> comments? my beta told me this was her favorite chapter so far, but i know it may be a bit slow for others. also, my beta did some amazing artwork for the chapters and as soon as i figure out how to put it up, each chapter should have chapter art. it's incredible.

They entered the famed Duro Space Run an hour before landing at the shipyard. The sudden flow of space traffic slowed their vessel down slightly but it was respectful to the Duros to use their ancient routes when approaching their cities or shipyards. Qui-Gon paused in front of a small viewport in the corridor of their battered ship, he ignored the various spacecraft that flashed by him and focused on the murky gray planet they were drawing nearer to.

Duro was inhabitable now, due to ancient wars and generations of pollution, the planet’s surface only used for automatic farming systems that allowed food production to still be maintained. Though the destruction of their planet was a sore point among the Duros, most were comfortable in the twenty cities that surrounded the planet and their gleaming spaceports that invited travelers from every reach of the galaxy. Various shipyards circled the cities appearing insignificant compared to the Duro Starshipwright Shipyard that hung against the blackness of space, the size of a small moon.

Their bulky ship banked slightly to the left to avoid a sleek vessel with a tapered stern and polished fins. Qui-Gon lifted an eyebrow slightly. He did not have much interest in ships, provided they were stable transportation, but it was clear the ship that had passed them was Duro crafted, it’s shape and movement conveying the expert work that the Duros put into every ship.

They drew closer to the planet, Obi-Wan flying carefully around the other ships despite the lack of maneuverability. Through Qui-gon’s viewport the shipyard became more visible. Though its size was larger then several of Duro’s cities, its population was low, primarily consisting of Durosian builders, politicians, and officials that filled a small city in the center of the horizontal shipyard, the dark metal sprawling out into framework. Even now the shipyard was being expanded on to increase the building and storing of entire fleets of ships that ranged from battle cruisers to single flyers.

For a shipyard it’s vastness surpassed practicality but shipbuilding was more than just a business to the Duros, it was an art form and a governmental system. Any members who owned stock within the shipyard companies were automatically given representation in Duro government, making expansion necessary to keep up with the increase of new shareholders.

Qui-Gon looked away from the viewport as Obi-Wan’s smooth voice cut through the ship’s intercom, announcing their approach to the shipyard. He turned, walking swiftly towards the cockpit. Virmu appeared from a door further down the corridor, climbing over the still scattered debris to join him. They walked in silence, Qui-Gon bending his head as they entered the dark cockpit. The area seemed twice as small as its dimensions with all three of them inside the tiny space.

Obi-Wan had a headset on and didn’t glance up from his controls as he maneuvered their ship around others. The lights on the control panel flashed, signaling that they were being hailed. Qui-Gon flipped on the ship’s comlink,

“Welcome, please state your purpose for entering Duro Starshipwright Shipyard,” a droid voice intoned, and Qui-Gon leaned forward to respond.

“We are Jedi requested by the Duro Security Forces and the Shipbuilders Association. We have been authorized by the Judicial Department of the Galactic Senate.”

The droid did not reply readily, clearly cycling their call through channels. A faint hum came from the ship’s computer and Obi-Wan thumbed at the floating screen, frowning slightly.

“They’re scanning our ship,” he said, and Qui-Gon exchanged a look with Virmu.

In most situations hidden scanning was a hostile action but considering the circumstances, Qui-Gon could not blame the Duros for being more cautious.

“Will they find the slavers?” Virmu asked, but Obi-Wan shook his head,

“They’re only scanning for external weapons at the moment, Master.”

“We must have passed clearance then,” Qui-Gon murmured.

Obi-Wan glanced at him, but the younger man did not respond before a Durosian voice came over the line.

“Welcome honored Jedi, we have been awaiting your arrival. Your landing access permit is being transmitted, please dock at number 43638.”

Qui-Gon tapped the button again.

“Thank you.”

He stepped back, his head brushing against the sloped ceiling.

Virmu crossed her arms, her face thoughtful in the shadows where she stood behind Obi-Wan’s chair.

“They are very uneasy.”

Qui-Gon glanced through the cockpit window, their view of the stars rapidly being eclipsed by the enormous shipyard. He had never interacted closely with the Duros but Master Virmu had worked with them several times in the past, she would know their mannerisms better then he would.

“Another theft, perhaps?” Qui-Gon wondered out loud and Virmu shrugged with a slight lift of her shoulder.

“Perhaps.”

She leaned down over Obi-Wan’s chair.

“Their numerical docking system is vertical, the landing bay should be nearer the bottom.”

Obi-Wan nodded, tilting the ship’s controls downwards slightly, flying towards the underbelly of the shipyard. Virmu straightened up and gave a small nod to Qui-Gon before exiting the cockpit.

Qui-Gon stepped forward in the darkness as they approached the landing bay where tens of thousands of ships were docked, some as battered as their vessel, others new and extraordinary. All of them were visiting ships, or personally owned. The top of the shipyard was dedicated solely to constructing new vessels, the lower area to housing any other craft.

They pulled in closer, the huge metal framework filling their screen, Obi-Wan turning their ship very slightly to slip between massive support beams and hover before the opening doors. Qui-Gon waited, hearing the low beep of the computer indicating that their permit code had been transmitted. He typed in the access code and after a few minutes they were cleared to land. Obi-Wan glided the ship easily between the heavy doors, flying into an enormous landing bay.

Qui-Gon kept his gaze latched on the cockpit’s viewport as Obi-Wan began to slowly circle the area, searching for their docking number. They flew over rows of ships that stretched further out then they could see, the landing bay separated into individual docks. Qui-Gon gestured silently as he glimpsed their corresponding number flashing on an empty platform. Obi-Wan nodded, rising up over a Bothan frigate and hovering over their landing platform. He began to initiate landing sequences, listening intently to whatever information he was receiving through his headset.

The platform was not completely empty as Qui-gon had first thought. Duro maintenance workers and droids moved through the area, many working on ships that had arrived in need of repair. A small group of Duros waited on the edge of their platform, dressed in dull gold uniforms. Duro Security Force, Qui-Gon mentally confirmed after leaning in for a closer look, he glanced towards Obi-Wan, but the other Jedi was still concentrating on proper landing protocol, frowning into the headset he wore as a distant voice relayed detailed instructions.

Qui-Gon looked at the younger man, watching Obi-Wan’s fingers tap rapidly on the screen, occasionally relaying one word sentences back before flipping switches. The man seemed undefeatable in his inability to stop working, through it was apparent that he was exhausted.

Qui-Gon’s mind reached almost instinctively now to where Obi-Wan’s mind was shut off from him, confused all over again by the immovability of Obi-Wan’s shields. It seemed impossible that their minds had touched earlier, Obi-Wan transferring him raw power during the fight with the slavers and Qui-Gon returning it. Unlike the utter blankness that Qui-Gon received from Virmu’s concealed thoughts, he could feel the Force flowing around Obi-Wan, but it was no longer accessible to Qui-Gon, the man’s mind personally blocked.

Qui-Gon frowned slightly in concern. Something was wrong with Obi-Wan. The younger man had been extremely resistant when discussing the slavers earlier and his conversation with Virmu in the ship’s bathroom had been vague and upsetting. Qui-Gon felt the desire to offer help but Obi-Wan’s shielded mind made it difficult to ascertain what the younger man was struggling with and Obi-Wan clearly had no desire to speak of it. With a subtle sigh Qui-Gon looked away. He would not pressure Obi-Wan to say or do anything, he only hoped that when Obi-Wan discussed the matter with his master, Virmu would choose to be kind.

With a slight nod towards Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon slipped away from the cockpit, bracing himself as the ship rocked, landing gear hitting the duracrete platform and settling. The thrum of the engines continued as the ship shifted slightly.

Qui-Gon met Virmu halfway to the landing ramp. Though her mind was blocked from his own it was apparent by her expression that she had noticed the security forces waiting for them as well. She had pulled on a cloak as dark as his own, the earlier fight with the slavers unnoticeable when looking at her organized appearance. Qui-Gon tugged his own worn cloak closed but dismissed any other thoughts of appearance. He was not the type to care about his looks. Besides the merit of making a favorable impression in sensitive diplomatic situations, Jedi were not concerned with vanity or outer beauty.

As it was, his own appearance had improved vastly in the last few hours, the swelling had decreased around his eye almost completely. The skin was still badly bruised there and his eye bloodshot from broken vessels but he doubted any damage would be noticeable in a day, particularly if he was able to meditate.

Qui-gon clasped his hands behind his back as the ship’s access doors wrenched apart with a creak of rusted metal, the landing ramp slowly sliding out. Virmu pursed her lips, but gave no other response. The group of Duros approached closer to their still running ship, eager to meet them. Qui-Gon felt uncomfortable about leaving Obi-Wan out of the introductions but judging by the ship’s humming engines, the padawan was still involved in a very lengthy landing process.

Virmu shifted near him, striding forward briskly and Qui-Gon joined her, moving more leisurely to not overtake her pace. The dark chrome of the landing platform was pitted and scratched from years of usage but everything gleamed, displaying the pride the Duros held for their shipyard. The ship behind them was quieting, engines still running enough that it created a strong breeze around them. They approached the waiting Duros, bowing deeply as the Duros raised both palms in salute.

“Greetings, Jedi,” one of the Duros spoke commandingly, blinking slightly as their eyes flickered over Qui-gon’s bruised face.

The Durosian wore a white jacket, emblazoned with insignia along the hem, over the gold security uniform. The Durosian’s green-blue skin was vividly colored, their large eyes glowing.

The Duros were distant genetic cousins to the Neimodians and shared similar physical characteristics, though their slender hairless bodies were richer colored and their orb-like eyes had red slit pupils, as opposed to the horizontal pupils that the Neimodians had. Both species had large oval heads, though the Duros did not have the cranial lumps that Neimodians possessed and their mouths weren’t set in a perpetual frown. Despite these differences, their noseless and earless faces at first glance could be mistaken for a Neimodians, However, culturally and individually, the Duros had little in common with the skittish and greedy Neimodians and they detested being confused for their ancient cousins.

“Greetings, I am Jedi Master, Sy’li-ki Virmu, this is Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn,” Virmu responded, gesturing to Qui-Gon slightly.

The Durosian in front of them nodded, locking hands over wrists in a symbol of welcome,

“We are pleased you are here,” the Durosian said in low brisk voice, “I am Baniss-Ena Inrull, head of Duro Security Forces of this shipyard. My colleagues and I,” they waved an elongated hand to the other Duros, “have had another incident yesterday that we are still unable to resolve.”

The Durosian huffed a slight breath of irritation, but overall remained calm.

Though Durosian males and females were clearly distinguishable from each other, there were a variety of other genders as well, and Baniss-Ena embodied Durosian mannerisms of both male and female.

“How large is your security for the shipyard?” Qui-Gon asked quietly and Baniss-Ena frowned, red eyes narrowing in thought,

“Three units, twenty officers in each unit, Master Jedi.”

At Qui-Gon’s look of surprise the Durosian shook their head.

“I know the number appears insignificant but you must understand, we do not have high levels of crime here, it goes against everything we believe in. We have never had to worry about this. To steal ships…it is a terrible crime to all Duros, even our visitors are aware of this.”

Qui-Gon nodded, his immediate perceptions had not hinted at laxity in the Duros security and Baniss-Ena appeared an efficient security leader, but there was no denying that sixty officers for a shipyard of this size would make it much easier for criminals to steal.

Baniss-Ena nodded to the damaged ship behind them where their engines were still running, blowing Qui-Gon’s hair and cloak around him.

“We’ve had to increase landing protocol, and move guard duties, but we are understaffed.”

It was not a complaint as much as a statement and Qui-Gon nodded at the truth in it.

He looked over at Virmu who had begun speaking in rapid and fluent Durese to another officer.

“I am honored to do what I can to resolve this as quickly as possible,” he said quietly and Baniss-Ena gave a small twitch of their lipless mouth in evident relief.

The roar of engines finally stopped behind Qui-Gon and he turned, Obi-Wan was walking down the ramp, approaching their party with his particular determined stride. He bowed as he neared them and stood silently. Irritation rose in Qui-Gon as Virmu did not bother to introduce Obi-Wan but continued speaking to the officer near her.

“This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master Virmu’s padawan,” Qui-Gon said instead and Obi-Wan stepped closer, his cream and brown Jedi robes appearing dull compared to the shining dark metal around them.

Obi-Wan was near the same height as the Duros, his hands folded into his sleeves. He had left behind the blanket he had worn earlier, the spaceport well heated enough that he no longer appeared chilled. Baniss-Ena raised palms and Obi-Wan mimicked the motion.

“Greetings, Jedi,” Baniss-Ena intoned and Obi-Wan nodded.

“Greetings, Traveler,” he responded.

The title was offered as a sign of respect, for to the Duros there was no greater honor then being known as a traveler. The officer’s mouth twitched in another smile as they gestured to a small speeder.

“I have arranged transportation to the shipyard Builder’s Hotel, for your lodgings. If you would prefer something else, I can arrange it.”

“Thank you, but we are satisfied with the provided lodgings,” Qui-Gon said with a small smile. He was unsure of what the Builder’s Hotel looked like but he had slept in a number of uncertain areas, it would not do to insult their hosts. Baniss-Ena relaxed, the Durosian’s face creased slightly with exhaustion.

“I can have an officer take you there now. I’m afraid we won’t be able to discuss the situation until tomorrow, it is quite late and we have a group of Sy Myrthian ship builders arriving soon that the company wishes us to escort.”

The officer grimaced apologetically.

‘The company’ was the common Durosian word for their unique governmental system. Qui-Gon nodded, glancing towards Virmu who was still speaking in rapid Durese to the other officer who was frowning, and nodding.

“There was a situation before we arrived that needs to be resolved,” Qui-Gon began, unsure of how to bring up the matter of slavers.

Obi-Wan shifted near him.

“Master Virmu is already explaining,” he said quietly, his face pale under the bright lights of the landing dock. Qui-Gon looked down at the man standing near his shoulder.

“You speak Durese?” he asked out of curiosity.

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“I am not fluent in it, but I am aware of a few words.”

Qui-Gon nodded, his gaze returning to Baniss-Ena who had started towards the speeder only to be stopped by a female Durosian that wore a wrinkled grey-green flight suit. They spoke quietly in their native language before the Durosian woman nodded, saluting and walking off. Baniss-Ena turned back to them with a sigh.

“My apologies, the maintenance workers are eager for more information on the investigation,” the head security officer stated tiredly, “This ship stealing is harming our community; the workers in particular are experiencing unrest. It doesn’t help that we have the Sy Myrthians arriving,” Baniss-Ena’s mouth moved in a motion of irritation, their slit pupils contracting, “Their ship building skills are mediocre, but recent events are forcing us to consider alliances.”

Qui-Gon exchanged a look with Obi-Wan, the younger man frowning and tilting his head very slightly. Though he could not sense the other Jedi through the Force, Qui-Gon gathered by the subtle motion that Obi-Wan was as surprised as him. Qui-Gon had not expected that the ship stealing would shake the Duros as much as it had, if their government was considering selling shares to a non-Durosian group, that group could gain political power quickly, at the expense of the Duros. It was a desirable situation for the power hungry and one that the Sy Myrthians might have been tempted to arrange.

They walked towards the small speeder that resembled much of the Duros architectural style, sleek dark-gray metal, rectangular with tapered edges. Baniss-Ena waved another officer over with a long hand.

“This is Levet DeBrek, one of the officers from my unit. He will show you your lodgings at the Builder’s Hotel, while I provide transportation to the Sy Mrythians.” Baniss-Ena paused, extending palms in salute, “It is a pleasure knowing that you are here, I wish to meet with one of you in the morning hours to discuss the security measures we have taken so far.”

Qui-Gon bowed.

“That would be agreeable,” he said quietly.

The officer nodded, moving back to the other officers and separating them into groups, a few of which left with them, while others spread out on guard duty.

Virmu finished speaking to one of the officers and now joined them near the speeder, her gaze as blank as her Force presence. Levet slid into the pilot’s seat, starting the engine with a low hum. He was slightly larger then Baniss-Ena, his mouth parting in a friendly smile as they joined him in the speeder.

“It’s not often we get Jedi visitors,” he remarked, lifting up and gliding several meters above the ground.

The rush of noise around them would have drowned any response they could have made as they slipped away from the docking bay and up above the rows of various spacecraft. An enormous access tunnel ran horizontally through the high ceiling of the landing bay and Levet nudged the speeder towards the tunnel’s closed entrance. He hovered there for a moment, inputting access codes with long fingers. The gates covering the entrance shimmered, vanishing suddenly and he guided them forward into the enormous tunnel.

Instantly, sound and light bombarded them. A group of speeders swept by while shuttles wove through the crowd of transports inside the tunnel. Qui-Gon leaned forward slightly, interested. What he had assumed to be some sort of shortcut was a traffic lane, hidden from view of those in the docking bay below, not unlike the podracing tunnels on Tel-rushia.

Levet steered them expertly through lanes, grinning at Qui-Gon’s intrigued expression, his aqua skin tone bright against the dark metal walls surrounding them. Qui-Gon looked behind him at Obi-Wan, to see what the younger man’s perspective was, but Obi-Wan was turned away, his hands clenching the edge of his seat. There was a sudden rigidity to his frame and Qui-gon felt concerned. He reached outwards with the Force automatically, only to retreat once again at the impenetrable walls around Obi-Wan. He opened his mouth instead, to ask if the other Jedi was alright, but they jerked forward suddenly, Levet murmuring an apology and entering another tunnel that was almost empty; he darted upwards through it, pulling out suddenly into open space.

They hung for a moment in the blackness, the shipyard surface spread out beneath them. The amount of construction was incredible, almost majestic, against the backdrop of space. Levet dipped downwards, ducking around a colossal warship that was half built before moving towards the center of the shipyard where the city was.

The openness was unusual as most shipyards were enclosed, The Duros, however could afford to invest in invisible barriers that created breathable air and artificial gravity without losing the unlimited room for expansion that space offered. Levet ducked around a large building, piloting smoothly while quietly pointing out notable features of the shipyard.

The lights from the shipyards brightened the front of the city, giving the dark chrome an almost reflective sheen to it. A tall angular building sat between three different ships under construction, one out of many buildings sprawled inside the inner workings of the shipyard. Levet glided towards it.

“The Builder’s Hotel,” he said with a grin.

It was massive, tall and slender with platforms running along the sides. The design, like all Duro construction was simple but supremely built.

The traffic on the surface of the shipyard was slower and consisted mostly of vehicles transporting building supplies. They approached the hotel, Levet flying upwards smoothly to one of their many platforms. A Durosian voice came over the speeder’s console and Levet replied with good humor, tapping out a list of numbers.

“All these extra security measures are wearing my fingers out,” he remarked to Qui-gon.

Qui-Gon gave a small smile, leaning forward as they were cleared for docking, the speeder shifting downwards towards the small landing platform. Levet pulling the vessel steady a few feet above the platform,

“I’ll arrive in the morning sometime, as Officer Baniss-Ena may not have the time to personally come get you,” he said cheerfully.

Qui-Gon nodded, giving a small bow of gratitude as he swung out of the still hovering speeder. Virmu landed next to him, followed by Obi-Wan.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Master Virmu stated, and the Durosian officer smiled.

“It is no trouble,” he responded lightly, pulling backwards and out into the inky darkness, lit only by the massive lights overlooking the shipyard.

Qui-Gon turned towards Obi-Wan and Virmu. Master Virmu did not look particularly impressed or interested in their surroundings but then she had visited the area several times. Obi-Wan was looking around with slight curiosity, though he was still very pale.

“Are you alright?” Qui-Gon asked quietly.

Obi-Wan looked sharply up at him.

“You seemed unsettled in the access tunnel,” Qui-Gon said softly, wondering if it was best to mention his observation when Virmu was nearby.

Master Virmu tilted her ridged head.

“Obi-Wan does not like enclosed spaces,” she said, her voice too flat for Qui-Gon to determine if she was criticizing or not.

They were interrupted by a tall Durosian, who crossed through clear interlocking doors that lead out from the hotel. He approached them on the platform, smiling and bowing at them.

“Honored Jedi, I am Rumun Arapto, the manager of Builder’s Hotel. I am most pleased that you are here.”

Qui-Gon returned the bow, sensing Virmu and Obi-Wan do the same.

“Please, let me show you your rooms.”

They were directed with ease to the upper floor where Rumun informed them an observation room also was located for local astronomers, or those who wished to survey the newest shipbuilding. Their quarters were built of the same dark gray metal as everything else, the polished gleam of it signifying a sense of grandeur, despite the simplicity of the rooms. Obi-Wan and Virmu had a large living area that split into two rooms, Qui-Gon’s was one room, smaller, with very little furniture. However both quarters were elegant and comfortable and Rumun departed after being assured of their well being.

They paused inside Qui-Gon’s room, Virmu examining the artwork on the walls with a interested, if critical eye, while Obi-Wan touched the back of a curved chair. He was still unsettled, Qui-Gon could see and he wanted to talk to the younger man, to try to soothe the tension there but he did not wish to speak in front of Virmu. She had made it clear she did not want him interfering with her ways of teaching and there were still other matters to consider.

“I should return to the ship, the slavers should not be left without a guard,” Qui-Gon said quietly, moving forwards with authority.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Obi-Wan still from where the younger man was standing, his large eyes meeting Qui-Gon’s before shying away, his mind as tightly closed as a fist.

“That is not necessary, I have already arranged for the slavers to be taken into Duro custody,” Virmu responded without inflection, still gazing at the somber paintings.

Qui-Gon inhaled slowly, unsure of the sudden anger he was experiencing. He released it into the Force, concentrating on the smaller elderly Jedi.

“That was not part of our agreement,” he said, his voice deceptively mild.

Virmu turned away from the artwork, meeting his stare coolly.

“I wasn’t aware we had an agreement, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes narrowed.

“That is apparent,” he looked away from Virmu as Obi-Wan stepped forwards, the younger man’s hands clenched at his sides, his face too quiet.

“You told me that you would wait,” he whispered tightly, his entire gaze focused on Virmu.

The woman frowned.

“We don’t have the time to address this situation. The code dictates that we release the slavers over to the nearest galactic security.”

Obi-Wan lifted his chin, his eyes unmoving for Virmu’s face.

“We can’t ensure proper security measures. The Duros aren’t prepared to imprison slavers, they don’t even have enough officers to guard the shipyards.”

“The slavers are not a threat, once they are imprisoned,” Virmu responded, stepping forward as well, crossing her slender arms, “Do not let your own regrets control your decisions, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan looked away quickly, his face deliberately blank, but Qui-Gon knew the younger man was livid, his anger far outstripping Qui-Gon’s own at Virmu’s choice to ignore their view on the matter.

“The Duros have agreed to imprison the slavers until a necessary trial date is available in the senate,” Virmu stated, walking over the black tiled floor, nearer to Qui-Gon, her head tilting back as her golden eyes swept over the dark walls of the room.

“That could take months,” Obi-Wan argued.

His back was still slightly turned to Qui-Gon, his mind shielded stronger then ever, only his eyes conveyed anything of how he felt, their green-blue depths burning.

“It is not our concern, any longer,” Virmu replied and Obi-Wan turned, striding over until he was only a foot from his master, his body taut, dangerous with how it radiated tightly contained rage,

“And what if they escape? Even solitary confinement can’t keep Trevsins locked up permanently. Once they escape they will return to terrorizing ships, kidnapping innocent civilians and selling them to the highest bidder. Does it become our concern then, or will it not matter, as long as I do not go near the Outer Rim?”

Qui-Gon had only heard such cold contempt from Obi-Wan when the slavers had attacked them earlier. There was a terrifying stillness to Obi-Wan’s presence, a smoldering fire beneath the icy calm.

“You attach too much emotion towards this matter. I will not allow this to become a personal vendetta for you,” Virmu snapped, and Obi-Wan’s eyes darkened.

“I will not remain ignorant of their crimes.”

His rich voice was thick with bitterness, his gaze suddenly distant, as if looking for something far away.

“You tread too closely to the evils of revenge,” Virmu reprimanded, and Obi-Wan tilted his head.

“Do I?” he challenged softly.

Master and apprentice locked gazes and it was Virmu who looked away first. Qui-Gon stepped forward.

“We never confirmed what the slavers’ business was in the Core Worlds, I need to speak with them again and Durosian imprisonment makes that impossible,” he pointed out roughly.

Master Virmu had knowledge of the Duros, she had to be aware of their prison systems supporting solitary confinement without visitation, as it was a matter discussed often in ethics debates inside the Temple. Restless irritation flowed through Qui-Gon, knowing that Virmu would not consider such things to be important. But underneath his own frustration he felt unsure at the intensity of Obi-Wan’s anger.

Something was wrong, something old and rotten lay between Obi-Wan and Virmu that made their every interaction painful and stilted in a way Qui-Gon could not understand. Virmu’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she shrugged, her elderly features unfazed.

“We should retire, it is too late to bother Duros officers on the matter now,” she said instead, gesturing to her padawan.

Obi-Wan did not move at first but then slowly followed Virmu as she crossed Qui-Gon’s room, the door sliding open for her. Qui-Gon moved to speak but stopped himself. Virmu would not listen and Obi-Wan was leaving, pausing only at the open door to throw Qui-Gon a indescribable look before he left, the smooth door shutting soundlessly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, how many people yelled 'its a battle station!' when i described the shipyard as being the size of a small moon? ;) 
> 
> also here's a little note on the Duros, as my beta pointed out that its a bit confusing. Duro is the name of the Duros homeworld, Duros is the plural word of the species, Durosian the singular. 
> 
> Baniss-Ena is genderqueer, which is why i use the pronouns 'they' and 'them'. genderqueerness (like all things such as gender and sexual orientation) is a spectrum, Baniss-Ena identifies as both male and female, so they would probably be considered bigendered. hence the hyphenated name, 'Baniss' being the masculine Durese word for 'handsome', 'Ena' being the archaic feminine Durese word for 'queen, or female ruler'. I don't identify as genderqueer, so if i'm misrepresenting the community, or doing something wrong out of ignorance, please let me know. i want more representation in my stories, but i don't want to write stereotypes or anything that may hurt feelings. 
> 
> names and meanings are here (also on wookeepeida!)  
> Baniss-Ena Inrull - 'handsome' 'queen' 'heart'  
> Levet DeBrek - 'eager/restless' 'starship crafter'  
> Rumun Arapto - 'strong voice' 'swift'
> 
> any species mentioned in this chapter are canon. oh, except the Trevsins. 
> 
> as always, if you want to find out more about my fics, ask me questions or just gaze at pictures of Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, you can follow me on my tumblr - InfiniteJediLove@tumblr.com


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! chapter seven is finally done :). i'm sorry about the wait, but this chapter is very important and pretty much the first scene i had in mind for this story, so i really wanted to write it the best i could. i'm hoping it meets everyone's expectations :), also i have some glorious fanart that my beta did, that i mentioned in the previous chapter's notes, but i am not sure how to upload it into the chapter. anyone have any ideas? i'll ask around on tumblr and the like and see if i can't get those up because they are gorgeous. i am going to put a MILD TRIGGER WARNING on this chapter, as there is some discussion of dark subject matter, including abuse. nothing is graphically described, nor does any actual content happen, but i thought i should have a warning just in case. again, this is Qui-gon's pov, as originally chapter 6 and 7 were going to be merged but that would have been enormous. this chapter is actually fairly long, so don't worry i'm not cutting anything short :)
> 
> comments are always welcome. in fact i live for comments, as they help me write and build the story better, knowing my audience.

The Builder’s Hotel observation room was large and octagonal with massive windows running the length of each wall. In the middle of the room there was a low platform that gave amateur and professional astronomers better access to seeing the stars. Qui-Gon stood in front of one of the large windows, alone in the dark room due to the late hour. There was no interior lighting in the room, instead it relied on the light from the shipyards to brighten the area enough to see without ruining the view of the stars above or the shipbuilding below.

The observation room offered a stunning display of at least three different construction areas within the shipyard, drawing Qui-Gon’s eyes to the incomplete form of a massive ship from the eastern view of the room. Even without metal plating and exterior work there was no mistaking the long rectangular build that defined Duro spacecrafts. The skeleton of the ship displayed swiftness and grace, the bright illumination from the construction area highlighting the tiny figures of engineers and droids shifting over what would eventually be the hull. Judging by the size and lack of weaponry options being built into it, Qui-Gon decided it was most likely a passenger ship of some kind.

He shifted closer to the window, the dark observation room causing the lights outside to appear brighter. The shipyard construction areas were well lit with bright lights displaying the surrounding areas as well, most likely a new precaution from Duros security that would make it easier to spot suspects. However, it had been very apparent during their transportation to the hotel that the magnificent ship he was looking at was only one of thousands that were being built all over the shipyard.

It would be impossible to watch every construction site, with only sixty Durosian officers. Still, the Duros were as protective over their ships as their children; civilians were most likely keeping an eye out, making it difficult to steal entire ships without someone noticing. He would have to discuss the matter with Baniss-Ena tomorrow.

Qui-Gon frowned, he was uncomfortable with beginning the investigation of the shipyard when the matter with the slavers had not yet been resolved. He understood that Virmu’s actions were not against The Code, nor were they outright wrong but her way of approaching the Trevsin situation and taking control of it was poorly executed. Qui-Gon doubted the slavers would be secured long and their imprisonment only meant more work for the strained Duro Security Forces.

Qui-Gon sighed, his gaze drifting to the night sky. Only the endless immensity of space could make the shipyard seem small, with darkness stretching silently above and around the giant spaceport. The quiet surrounding Qui-Gon engulfed everything, something he was noticing about the Duros. They did not make unnecessary noise, everything from their speech to their architecture embodied a sense of tranquility. Jobs were performed with focus, but they did not consume the Duros in the way other business driven societies did, nor was there a vast inequality among classes. Some of the most menial jobs, such as maintenance work, were seen as an honor.

Qui-Gon frowned, rubbing a hand over his scruffy beard. He was not used to working so closely with businesses when solving a mission. He would have to rely heavily on Master Virmu’s knowledge and experience to learn the inner workings of the Duros.

Qui-Gon glimpsed movement reflecting against the long glass window, he turned, his surprise at not sensing anyone fading as he saw that it was Obi-Wan. The smaller man was not wearing his cloak anymore and the light cream of his tunics stood out in the shadowed room. Obi-Wan walked towards him, moving down the small angular steps of the center platform and striding to Qui-Gon’s side, his brow creased slightly in a frown.

The younger man paused near him, looking out through the observation window to examine the half-constructed ship far below. They stood in silence, the lights from outside falling in choppy patterns over them, Obi-Wan’s gaze distant, half in shadow. Qui-Gon looked over at the other Jedi. Chunks of light glinted on the edge of Obi-Wan’s collarbone and along his brow and chest; it highlighted his reddish-brown hair that was still short but needing a trim, and the thin padawan braid that fell down his shoulder. The rest of him was muted in darkness, almost ghost-like in the shadows.

Obi-Wan did not greet or look at Qui-Gon, his eyes remained firmly fixed on the shipyard below. Though his mind was shielded too tightly for Qui-Gon to sense, it was clear the younger man was on edge, his hands were clenched at his sides, white enough that the faint scarring there was visible. The anger that Qui-Gon had seen earlier had faded but there was something else there, some other emotion that Qui-Gon could not place that had driven Obi-Wan to seek him out.

He watched Obi-Wan. The man was a littler shorter and thinner then what was average for human males, his body slight, almost small next to Qui-Gon. His face still held some of the softness of youth but there was a tension to him that Qui-Gon had always seen. It was possible the stress of the last few days had made Obi-Wan unable to relax but Qui-Gon doubted it. Obi-Wan looked as if he never quite lost alertness. The silence between them was not uncomfortable but there was a charge to the air, Qui-Gon waiting. Obi-Wan looked away then back at the ship in front of them.

“Master Virmu is meditating,” he stated simply.

Qui-Gon looked at him.

“Does she know that you are here?”

Obi-Wan shrugged.

“It hardly matters,” he said in a tone that fell somewhere between bitterness and exhaustion.

The man’s light eyes were intent on the ship below, his expression unchanged, his voice calm when he spoke again.

“My master wishes to investigate some of the shipyard in the morning, I will go with her, which will leave you to gather information from Baniss-Ena and the other officers.”

Qui-Gon nodded.

“That would be favorable.”

They lapsed into silence once more, Qui-Gon very aware of Obi-Wan’s presence near him, the stifled hum of the Force and the sound of the man breathing in the half-darkness.

“The Duros can spend up to three years building a ship,” Obi-Wan said suddenly, “relying entirely on droids could lower the production time, but they chose to do the most essential work themselves.”

Qui-Gon considered the information briefly before responding.

“Their ships are highly prized for their handiwork, to steal one would supply a thief with a substantial sum.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowed in the dark.

“Other shipyards leave their shipbuilding to machines that can be calculated for the best possible outcome, regardless of the task, yet they are not worth what a Duro ship is worth,” he paused, frowning faintly, “It is strange, seeing the value of imperfection.”

“There are no true imperfections, only different explanations,” Qui-Gon replied, glancing over at Obi-Wan and smiling faintly at the skeptical look the younger man gave him.

Obi-Wan was quiet for a moment before facing Qui-Gon.

“Do you believe that?” he asked sternly, an intentness sharpening the words almost into a challenge.

Qui-Gon turned to meet his gaze fully and Obi-Wan looked away.

“You do not believe that people are born flawed?” the younger Jedi asked in a softer tone.

Qui-Gon frowned, his dark blue eyes tracking Obi-Wan’s movements. The younger man’s expression was purposely blank but the shields around his mind were shivering slightly, allowing Qui-Gon a moment to glimpse turbulence before further shields rose.

“What are you thinking of?” Qui-Gon asked without meaning to.

He was aware that he had not answered Obi-Wan, that the younger man would find the question invasive. He expected Obi-Wan to refuse to respond but the man’s reply was sharp and quick.

“Obedience,” Obi-Wan stated, his small mouth tightening, “And despair, and wondering if one doesn’t lead to the other.”

Qui-Gon stared at him. He did not know what to say, aware only of Obi-Wan’s gaze rising to meet his own, the hidden depths there that he was suddenly being allowed to see. The younger man’s eyes were a gray-green at the moment, as if all blue had drained away. He recalled Obi-Wan’s eye color being the same during their talk in the cockpit, a possible effect of the lighting, or perhaps the tone of conversation.

The shields around the man’s mind fell slightly, not as an invitation, as much as it was a search for acknowledgement and Qui-Gon was struck by a sudden bizarre need to touch the younger man’s face. Abruptly, Obi-Wan stepped near him, his tunic sleeve brushing against Qui-Gon’s.

“You told me that you would be willing to listen, if I were to talk with you.”

Qui-Gon blinked at the intensity in Obi-Wan’s voice, the richness of hidden emotion.

“Yes,” he said softly.

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Alright,” he responded heavily.

His eyes moved back to the outside view, his body rigid next to Qui-Gon, held apart as if they were not standing so close, as if there were the entire universe between them. Again, Qui-Gon felt the urge to reach out and bridge that gap with his mind, but Obi-Wan’s mind remained tightly cut of from his. It was not normal for Jedi to shield so extensively and continuously, as it drained power and stifled their ability to sense others. To shield the amount that Obi-Wan did only happened in rare circumstances, where a Jedi feared losing control or being discovered by a Force-sensitive.

“Would you like to go somewhere else?” Qui-Gon asked after a long pause.

Obi-Wan nodded, biting his lower lip briefly.

The only place that guaranteed privacy without interruption from Virmu was Qui-Gon’s small room. It was late enough that the long halls of the Duro hotel were lit only by light strips along the ceiling and floors, both of them automatically softening their footsteps so not to awaken other guests as they walked back to Qui-Gon’s quarters. Qui-Gon half-glanced at Obi-Wan, aware that the younger man was nervous, Obi-Wan’s fingers tugging on the hem of his Jedi tunics, his body tense, as if in danger.

The moment they entered Qui-Gon’s hotel room, Obi-Wan turned towards him.

“I may not be able to speak of everything. I can’t…I don’t remember some things and I’m not sure…” he broke off, shaking his head, looking down at the floor.

The uncertainty was startling, the soft cool light of the room emphasizing Obi-Wan’s paleness as his hands twisted in the folds of his cloak. Qui-Gon crossed the small dark room, sitting down on the edge of the bed he’d been provided.

“You do not need to –” he began but Obi-Wan interrupted him.

“No. You should know why, considering the mess with the Trevsins earlier. I just…” he glanced up, his expression lost, making him appear much younger, “It is difficult to know where to start.”

Qui-Gon rested his palms against his knees, leaning forward, his mind reaching automatically to soothe, but Obi-Wan was shielding even stronger then usual, only brief glimpses of something jagged lay in the Force between them. There was a sense of foreboding, a knowledge that what would be spoken of would be stronger then what either of them could easily accept. Obi-Wan stood stiffly, hands clenched, and Qui-Gon felt concern. He had witnessed the man in tense situations and the other Jedi was not the type to show alarm easily.

“Is this something that Virmu wants you to say?” he asked quietly and Obi-Wan shook his head, surprising Qui-Gon with a small bitter laugh.

“Virmu would hardly approve of me speaking of this.”

Obi-Wan hesitated further, his eyes scanning the room, hands opening and clenching once more.

“There are things in my past, reasons why my master thought the slavers were looking for me, why I can’t go into the Outer Rim,” he said slowly, crossing his arms, his gaze turned inward.

His expression had stilled, become neutral, but Qui-Gon could briefly sense an incredible strain beneath the veneer of steel the younger man always had. Obi-Wan exhaled heavily, running a hand through his short hair. He looked up in the shadowed blue light of the room, his eyes meeting Qui-Gon’s.

They looked at one another for awhile before Obi-Wan stepped forward again, stopping behind a chair, the only other piece of furniture in the room, his hands grasped the back of it, white with tightness. Only a few paces separated them and Qui-Gon felt a stillness come over him, a need to not startle Obi-Wan who was trembling very faintly now. When the man spoke though it was with familiar determination, Obi-Wan tilting his head, the curve of his neck and collarbone exposed once again to the light.

“I want to tell you what happened.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly and Obi-Wan turned away. It was a long while before the younger man spoke abruptly.

“I was a slave once.”

Qui-Gon started.

“Before the Temple?” he asked, and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“After I became a padawan. I –” he stopped and then started again, “There was a diplomatic mission my Master and I were given. We were assigned as protection for a senator from the Middle Core. We’d only done political missions so far. There were unexpected parts of them, but nothing dangerous.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze was far away, his voice hesitant.

“I was fourteen and still unsure of how to prove myself to Virmu. I wanted her to be proud of me, to like me. I didn’t know then that it wasn’t in her nature to become attached to any of her padawans. I thought it would take time for a bond to form between us, so I waited.”

Obi-Wan sat suddenly in the small chair near the bed.

“The diplomatic mission took place at a political function on the edge of the Middle Core, at a neutral spaceport. There were disputes among parties about expansion and Republic citizenship but I don’t remember much about it.”

Obi-Wan’s fingers tugged slightly at the fabric binding along one wrist. He stared at the floor.

“There were mostly politicians there, but a few had brought their children. There was another boy there; he was older then me, near seventeen. I had assumed he was related to one of the politicians,” a note of something crept into Obi-Wan’s voice, “He was very handsome. I didn’t know…I wasn’t sure then if I was attracted to him…I am aware now that I, that that is how I feel towards men but I did not know at the time…the temple does not teach about such things.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze remained turned away from Qui-Gon’s, his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale.

“Virmu wouldn’t allow me speak to the politicians, she did not want me to escalate any of the tension already there. But the other boy wasn’t a politician and he was very interested in me.”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed, his hands gripping the edge of the chair.

“I don’t remember leaving the event, but I think I may have…I remember the boy speaking to someone else about ‘cargo’ and hearing the engines of a ship but it was dark where I was at and I believe I passed out. When I woke up I was somewhere else entirely.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyes from the floor, looking at a point to the left of Qui-Gon, continuing in the same calm, almost scholarly voice, only his hands clenching the edge of the chair gave away what it was costing him to speak.

“Slavery perpetuates everything in the Outer Rim. Whole planets are used to harvest slaves, to lease them out to others. It’s a system loosely hidden from the Republic, far enough away that the Senate does not consider it worth their time to investigate. The main sellers and leaders of the slave system are the Sh’kil, a human population derived from what was most likely a lost settlement of explorers or scientists hundreds of years ago. They live primarily in underground camps because Sh’Tar’va, the Sh’kil homeworld, is too cold for many to survive long on the surface. The Sh’kil aren’t a very large group. Their main source of income is selling slaves for work or sex to other buyers. The Trevsins work closely with the Sh’kil, not as buyers but as transportation.”

The corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth shifted grimly as he continued speaking.

“The Sh’kil are the most notorious and feared slavers in the Outer Rim but they’ve never left their planet. They’re isolationists who rely on the Trevsins to ferry ‘cargo’ for them. The Trevsins run the risks of kidnapping and slave trading in more patrolled areas but their efforts are well paid for by the Sh’kil. Though slaves are ultimately exchanged or sold by the Sh’kil to various interests, there are many that may stay on Sh’Tar’va for years before being sold. To the Sh’kil, a slave isn’t worth anything until they’ve been broken.”

Obi-Wan’s voice remained even, his eyes focused on something in the distance.

“When I woke up, I was on Sh’Tar’va. I remember the smell of the holding room and the guards talking to me, most of them former slaves who had undergone ‘enlightenment’.”

At Qui-Gon’s expression, Obi-Wan paused before explaining,

“When a slave becomes too traumatized by what is occurring a device is implanted within their brain, it prevents the hippocampus from working as clearly, blunting emotion and leaving them with little will of their own, or much of a conscience.”

Qui-Gon swallowed and Obi-Wan continued in the same matter-of-fact manner.

“They stripped me and tattooed my arm with the Sh’kil crest. Every slave is marked with the crest. Even when they are sold, the tattoos remain as testament of their slavery. When the Trevsin pirates saw my tattoo they knew that I was once owned by the Sh’kil.”

Qui-Gon nodded, recalling the interrogation afterwards, the slaver who had referred to Obi-Wan as ‘one of the Sh’kil’ and then derogatorily as a prostitute.

“Did they,” he hesitated as Obi-Wan’s eyes met his, “did they hurt you?” Qui-Gon asked gently.

Obi-Wan looked at him for a long moment, his expression blank,

“I was beaten numerous times, my left collarbone was broken after the first week and I sustained damage to my lungs, heart, and kidneys. The food was minimal and new arrivals had to fight for their meals. I chose not to and endured malnutrition. But that is not what you want to know.” Obi-Wan looked away, “You want to know if I was raped,” he stated quietly.

Qui-Gon bit his lip, his own hands curling into fists. He felt a sickening rush in his stomach as Obi-Wan continued to speak.

“I was never penetrated but there were many who came close to doing so. I attempted to dissuade them by using the Force, but the guards had different minds due to ‘enlightenment’, I could not mislead them. I had to attack…”

Obi-Wan’s voice faded, his calm expression faltering, he leaned forward, bracing his head in his hands and Qui-Gon half-stood before hesitating, unsure if he should touch Obi-Wan or not.

“I killed them,” Obi-Wan said softly, his words hanging between them, “I did not know what to do to get them to stop. They would not listen to me. The guards, even other slaves tried to hurt me. I could not defend myself using strength…I don’t remember everything…but I know that I did kill them, I destroyed their minds with the Force when they touched me and tried to get me to do things for them. I didn’t know what else to do!”

For the first time Obi-Wan’s voice bordered on distraught, his expression pained, his breathing rapid. Qui-Gon moved carefully forwards to kneel next to Obi-Wan.

“A Jedi is allowed to use the Force as a weapon in times of danger,” he murmured, looking up at Obi-Wan.

The blue shadows of the room colored Obi-Wan’s skin a ghostly white, the young man lifted his head from his hands, turning his face away,

“You do not know what is like to have another’s mind within your grasp, to feel it die when you rip it apart.”

“No, I do not,” Qui-Gon responded, swallowing past the tightness in his throat.

He laid a hand tentatively on Obi-Wan’s knee, surprised when Obi-Wan’s cold palm came down to cover it. They were still for a long time, Obi-Wan’s breathing slowing, his body trembling faintly.

“The camps were cold,” Obi-Wan finally whispered, “It was cold even underground. They had us mining the dirt searching for Trilightium, a mineral that they used for trade. I worked hard, as hard as I could. If you could prove that you were a good worker there was less of a chance being sold for sex work. I overheard the Sh’kil talking to the Trevsins, they had made it clear that it could go either way for me. I was able to work much harder then most fourteen-year-old slaves because of Jedi training and I suppose I was attractive enough that they felt I had some other value.”

The fingers on the back of Qui-Gon’s hand shivered and he felt the ridges of calluses and scars there, another reminder of Obi-Wan’s enslavement.

“I was too young to understand everything that was happening. The first time I killed, I tried to escape. I was caught and beaten. I tried again to run but it didn’t matter, I was always caught. There were buyers interested in me but the Sh’kil were waiting to sell me. I had tried to escape and had to be broken. The work was part of it, that was brutal and I could not sleep to restore energy. There were too many guards and slaves that had shown an interest in me.”

Obi-Wan paused, his fingers trembling and cold.

“I was so afraid,” he confessed quietly and Qui-Gon felt something in him almost break at how hard those words were for Obi-Wan to say.

“I don’t remember much of the time after the first week. The work all blended together. I stopped trying to escape but the beatings still happened. I forgot about anything else but working to get to the next meal. I considered suicide but there were little options. I didn’t have the Force training to stop my heart. I was trapped. I didn’t know who I killed or how long I worked, after awhile it didn’t matter to me.”

Obi-Wan looked down at Qui-Gon kneeling by him, their eyes meeting. An exhaustion deeper then anything was there in Obi-Wan’s distant gaze,

“Master Virmu came for me after six weeks. I had not thought she would. She created a disruption in another camp and came looking for me. I don’t remember leaving, but there was a time…I remember when we were returning to Coruscant she expressed disappointment at how feral I was after being gone for such a short while.”

Qui-Gon frowned, looking up at Obi-Wan, scanning the youthful face, the tightness of the mouth, the stern expression.

“How did she find you?”

Something, almost a smile or a grimace of bitterness passed over Obi-Wan.

“Virmu knew where I was very soon. She had caught the boy who had sold me to the Trevsins, perhaps three days after my disappearance. He told her everything he knew and she was able to trace me to Sh’Tar’va by the end of the week. Because of the political situation she chose to finish the mission before finding me.”

Qui-Gon jerked in shock, his breath coming out in a hiss, unable to comprehend such coldness from a Jedi.

“She left you there?” he demanded and Obi-Wan shrugged in a defeated manner.

“The diplomatic mission was too delicate to abandon,” he recited, and Qui-Gon bit his lip sharply to surpass words that he would not be able to control from escaping.

He could scarcely imagine the pain Obi-Wan had endured, the constant work, the strain of fighting off the perverse attentions of others, the lack of food and sleep, the horror of killing. The fact that Virmu had known where Obi-Wan was and had chosen not to rescue him immediately, was unacceptable. He drew on the Force for calm, speaking only when he was capable of containing his anger.

“She should have searched for you as soon as possible,” he whispered and felt Obi-Wan’s Force sense tremble, the younger man’s mind shields lowering very slightly.

“She had a duty as a Jedi,” Obi-Wan began, but Qui-Gon shook her head,

“A master’s duty is always to ensure the welfare of their padawan, above the mission, if they must.”

Obi-Wan blinked.

“I do not think Virmu would agree with you,” he said tiredly, and Qui-Gon stared at the light reflecting off the black tiled floor, holding inside his outrage at Virmu’s continued dismissal of Obi-Wan’s suffering.

He felt a pain deep inside at the thought of Obi-Wan so young, so untrained with the Force, having to do what he could for survival.

“Did they try to enlighten you? The Sh’kil?” he asked.

Obi-Wan blinked again in surprise.

“No, they avoided my mind.”

He frowned, brows drawing together, his cold fingertips curling inwards slightly on the back of Qui-Gon’s hand,

“You thought they did?”

Qui-Gon looked up from where he was kneeling.

“You said that your memory was uncertain,” he spoke carefully, aware that any statement or question could become too much.

Obi-Wan’s expression cleared slightly, only to grow troubled again.

“When Virmu found me on Sh’Tar’va, I had no shields, I hadn’t learned how to regulate my emotions or to reach to the Force for concealment. I was struggling with what had happened, with what I’d done. I was…unstable. Virmu returned directly to Coruscant and took me to the Jedi healers. They searched my mind. I fought them instinctively and I was forcibly sedated. I’ve learned since then that they discussed the matter with the Council. It was agreed that it would be better to erase the memories from my mind.”

“No,” Qui-Gon whispered, siting back on his heels. He was unable to imagine the healers choosing that option and that the council would agree. He had never heard of the Jedi doing such a thing. It was extremely dangerous to tamper with the mind of another individual, particularly one who was Force sensitive.

“They saw that I had failed to control my Force abilities during my capture and that I had killed. They feared by allowing me to keep that knowledge I would be tempted to the dark side. The memories were erased.”

“They didn’t ask you beforehand, did they?” Qui-Gon questioned and Obi-Wan shook his head,

“I wasn’t in any shape to ask.”

Qui-Gon looked away, his stomach twisting with nausea,

“It didn’t work, though, the erasure,” he said softly.

“No,” Obi-Wan whispered, “it didn’t.”

He looked down, touching the back of Qui-Gon’s large hand, tracing the knuckles lightly,

“At first it did. Virmu began instructing me how to shield and I was able to avoid thinking about the blank areas in my mind for awhile. But I started having nightmares and soon smells and sounds would trigger strange…recollections. I’ve been able to piece most of it together over the years, mostly from dreams and studying what I can find on the slave system, but there is a lot that is blank of those six weeks. Virmu does not discuss it. I am sure she knows that I remember more then I should, but I do not believe she has brought it up to the healers.”

Obi-Wan’s calm numb tone was gone, his voice had began to shake slightly, his eyes distant.

“There are things I cannot do. I can’t regulate my body temperature, because of the long exposure to cold on Sh’Tar’Va. I have had panic attacks and I am unable to form a master-apprentice bond with Virmu.”

Qui-Gon looked up, startled. It was unheard of for a padawan to not have a bond with their master. The bond was crucial in a Jedi’s training, the connection between master and apprentice extremely important. He had realized that Obi-Wan and Virmu were not close, but he had not suspected Obi-Wan was without a link of any kind.

“That is why you shield so strongly,” he murmured and Obi-Wan nodded.

Qui-Gon bit his lip. It was possible, considering the trauma Obi-Wan had endured, that his unlinked mind would be dangerous to other Jedi if unshielded, clearly that was what the council and healers had thought, what Virmu had most likely told Obi-Wan for years. But Qui-Gon could not forget their minds touching in battle, Obi-Wan’s fully exposed to him, the rawness there immense, filled with power. It had been overwhelming, but not painful or dangerous and Qui-Gon wondered what Obi-Wan thought, if the other Jedi ever allowed his controls to loosen long enough to experience having an unshielded mind.

“As far as I am aware, I am the only one to successfully escape from the Sh’kil. They choose to hunt down any slaves who escape, to prevent the Senate from being informed. That is why I can’t travel near or in the Outer Rim. There have been too many encounters with slavers or bounty hunters.”

Obi-Wan lifted his head, staring straight ahead.

“Virmu believes that the Trevsins are no different then any other slavers and its possible they aren’t. But the Trevsins are certain now that I am marked by the Sh’kil."

“If they escape from the Duros prison they could come looking for you again,” Qui-Gon murmured, and Obi-Wan jerked his head in a small nod.

“The Duros cannot hold the Trevsins indefinitely,” he said tiredly.

Qui-Gon frowned.

“Is the Senate aware of the Sh’kil?” he asked.

Obi-Wan shrugged.

“I’m sure many senators are. However any testimony I could give would be discarded. My memory can’t be trusted now that it’s already undergone erasure.”

Qui-Gon looked up at the Jedi. The light in the room glinted off the man’s short hair and his long slender padawan braid.

“The Council should not have done that,” he said with quiet firmness and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“I killed. I was lucky not to be expelled.”

“You were defending yourself!” Qui-Gon protested and Obi-Wan met his eyes with swift and sudden fury, trembling on the edge of remembered pain.

“You do not understand, Qui-Gon. I lose control when threatened, I revert back to that desperation. I feel only the need to kill for survival. I-I cannot control it.”

Qui-Gon kept his gaze steady with Obi-Wan’s until the anger faded into shakiness. Gently, he pressed his palm against Obi-Wan’s knee, feeling the bone there, the slight warmth of skin beneath cloth.

“You have experienced trauma, you are still experiencing it. It is normal to return to that mindset,” he said softly.

Obi-Wan shook his head faintly.

“I have no idea what is normal,” he whispered, and Qui-Gon bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from speaking.

It was difficult to accept that no one had bothered to explain to Obi-Wan any of the man’s experiences, or discuss the aftermath of it all, instead it was hidden, something shameful not to be spoken of. The younger man was shaking faintly, pressing a hand to his eyes, his shields faltering so Qui-Gon caught odd bursts of thoughts and feelings circulating in the Force.

“I can’t talk about this anymore,” Obi-Wan said suddenly, and Qui-Gon nodded.

He stayed still for a moment, kneeling on the black tile. Obi-Wan was shaking, skin vibrating under Qui-Gon’s large fingers, the younger man’s eyes wide, his breath and heartrate increasing in the sweeping motions of panic. Qui-Gon reached upwards, placing his other hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, needing to soothe what he could not repair.

“Its alright,” he whispered.

Obi-Wan lifted his head, his face worn with exhaustion. He said nothing, he did not need to. He was so close to coming undone. Qui-Gon repeated the words over and over, a mantra meant to soothe, to console, Obi-Wan bowed his head again, leaning slightly into Qui-Gon’s touch and Qui-Gon felt a wave of sadness. It was clear the younger man did not know how to accept comfort, having never been offered it, but he needed it, Obi-Wan shifting forwards and tentatively resting his forehead against Qui-Gon’s shoulder. His whole body shook as if in tears, but Qui-Gon knew Obi-Wan wasn’t crying. He was unsure if the younger man knew how to cry.

Gently, he draped his arm around Obi-Wan’s back feeling the slight ridge of Obi-Wan’s spine, the hitch in the man’s breath before it settled slightly, Obi-Wan shifting closer. Qui-Gon was more tactile then most Jedi, but it had been years since he’d openly embraced someone and never with such a bare desire to hold and comfort. The other man’s head was tilted, his breath rapid and warm on the side of Qui-Gon’s neck, his padawan braid falling forward against Qui-Gon’s long silver-brown hair. Obi-Wan’s lithe body trembled slightly, the Force whirling with barely revealed thought and emotion.

Qui-Gon felt the motion of Obi-Wan’s head turning inwards, his cheek settling against Qui-Gon’s shoulder. Wiry arms moved somewhat awkwardly, one sliding over Qui-Gon’s ribs, settling around the older man’s waist, Obi-Wan returning the embrace. The younger Jedi’s skin was slightly chilled, the rasp of his tunics brushing against Qui-Gon’s as he rested there. Qui-Gon held Obi-Wan for a long moment, kneeling with quiet resolve to remain for however long the younger man needed him.

Slowly, Obi-Wan’s breath evened out, his shaking subsiding. He sighed tiredly, the weight of exhaustion heavy on him before he sat back in his chair. Qui-Gon released his grip lightly, standing. Obi-Wan looked up at him openly, gratitude and weariness in his eyes. After a moment the man stood as well, raking fingers through his hair distractedly,

“Virmu will be done meditating soon,” he muttered, his voice rasping from the strain of their conversation.

Qui-Gon nodded, he looked at the smaller man, taking in every detail in the blue light. He gave into the need to touch, the soft hum in the Force opening and calming between them. He reached out, brushing large fingers against Obi-Wan’s cheek, feeling the warmth of another’s skin, the slight texture there from where Obi-Wan had not shaven in a day or so. Qui-Gon felt a sense of awe merged with sorrow at the trust Obi-Wan had tentatively given him, something the man had clearly never done with anyone else. Obi-Wan blinked, looking up at him, Qui-Gon close enough that he could see faint freckles along the nose and cheekbones.

“I am sorry,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan lifted his own hand, his long fingers touching the back of Qui-Gon’s wrist.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice low in the shadowed room.

Each gesture was measured, Qui-Gon sensing that beneath the man’s exhaustion there was a darkness that Obi-Wan could not hope to defeat. Speaking about Obi-Wan’s past had only brought up more questions and uncovered the raw pain that existed as a constant burning ember within the man.

Emotion rose in Qui-Gon, a need to help in whatever way he could, but he pulled back, knowing that pity was not something that Obi-Wan would appreciate. Obi-Wan moved slightly away and Qui-Gon let his hand drop,

“I should go,” Obi-Wan said and Qui-Gon nodded.

It was late and there was much they had to do the following day. The matter of the Trevsins only increased the sense of urgency to their mission and Qui-Gon wished that the situation with the Duros was not their main focus. He did not believe that the Duros had the manpower to keep the Trevsins imprisoned and he did not trust that Virmu would monitor the matter if it interceded with their assigned mission again.

Obi-Wan inclined his head in a light bow, his mouth moving almost into a smile, a gesture of courage as much as sadness that Qui-Gon returned without knowing. He watched the other man leave and knew that things had changed. Obi-Wan had spoken of his past, freely for the first time, and from that there rose a mingled sense of pain and relief that Qui-Gon was not sure how to adjust to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i know everyone hates Virmu now and that's ok. i don't want anyone feeling like they have to hold back and not hate her, i never intended for her to be good, but i also don't consider her the main villain. i basically want to show the more messed up things that jedi can do in the name of the code, or when they completely ignore suffering to focus on their mission. so yeah, Virmu is horrible for what she did, and the council responded badly to Obi-wan's trauma. its probably pretty apparent that Obi-wan has PTSD from everything and Qui-gon's the first he's been able to confide in. i have no experience with PTSD, but i've been trying to research the matter to get a better idea of how it happens, the symptoms, possible trigger points, and possible recovery. i do not mean to belittle or undermine mental disorders, but shine light on the fact that Obi-wan is basically battling this condition alone, as the Jedi don't really know how to help, nor do they want to. 
> 
> also that hurt/comfort scene at the end wasn't going to happen but i swear it jumped into my head when i was writing it and i knew that Qui-gon would be the type to hold Obi-wan when he couldn't fix what was wrong. so i suppose it could be seen as slash, but if you're this far into the story and you don't know that it's slash then *cough* it's going to be slash. like lots of slash, really tender, jedi team, romantic, powerful slash. i'll let you know if anything explicit comes up, but it will be awhile, considering where Obi-Wan's at and the fact that they aren't aware of their attraction to each other yet. (i know, i know, it's obvious...but you know)
> 
> just a reminder, the Sh'kil, the Trevsins, everything about them and the slave system in this chapter i made up. 
> 
> comments? thoughts? ideas on the chapter? :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone :). sorry for the late chapter, as I've said on tumblr, i have been having computer problems and yesterday there was a random power outage again, so that sucked. but here it is, chapter eight! Obi-Wan's pov. hope you like it! comments are always appreciated!

Obi-Wan did not sleep when he returned to the quarters he shared with his master. Confessing what had happened in his past had left him feeling unbearably heavy, his mind swarming with disjointed memories. To sleep now would only invite the familiar nightmares.

He crossed the main room of their quarters soundlessly, the area completely dark except for the muted lights of the shipyards outside. The glow shone through the thick drapes, fading before offering any brightness. Obi-Wan stood in front of the curtains, one hand against the wall to balance his shaking body. He felt almost ill from discussing the forbidden parts of his past and allowing Qui-Gon to see him in such a vulnerable state. His stomach muscles were tense, his head pounding.

Obi-Wan turned away from the windows, moving into the center of the dark room. His fingers numbly felt for the strangely shaped furniture, settling in the main area of the room. He would meditate instead of sleep, to regain some control over his trembling shields. They had strengthened after their brief falter when discussing the past, but seemed unable to hold indefinitely, Obi-Wan still faintly sensing Qui-Gon’s sorrow and anger on his behalf. Obi-Wan frowned, he could not allow his own weaknesses to hinder the Jedi master, perhaps he should not have spoken at all.

He turned his mind inwards, trying to focus on a simple sound or image to meditate by. His shields shifted and Obi-Wan bit down on his lower lip. The conversation with Qui-Gon had stirred up dark moments from the past, his mind narrowing in on murky images and scents… _the stink of urine in a crowded room where bodies slept upright because there wasn’t space for lying down, his breath rising in the air of the brutally cold mines, rough hands touching him in the dark, immune to his fists and terror…_

Obi-Wan turned his face away, hissing as he exhaled. Would this always hunt him? Would he always be trapped in old memories, unable to go forward without a scent or a sound triggering remembered pain? Would he ever be unafraid?

It seemed the only time he wasn’t frightened of the past were times he should be, moments of danger where his mind grew quiet and entirely focused on survival. He hated and longed for that mental place, that separation into a machine-like drive to remove whatever was threatening him without fear of consequences.

Obi-Wan bent his head from where he sat cross-legged on the floor, his padawan braid brushing the ground. Meditation offered no real rest for him, only frustrating him at his inability to remain as tightly shielded as before. He had been taken to a point of vulnerability when talking to Qui-Gon and later on when the man had held him. Obi-Wan wasn’t so blind to not know that such open acceptance of his past alarmed him and left him struggling to maintain control now that the moment had passed

Hours later, Obi-Wan was drawn from his attempted meditation by Virmu. She entered the main room, pausing in front of where he sat on the floor. He blinked, instantly aware, looking up at her. She gave a rare nod of approval to see him meditating, something he often avoided except when the dread of nightmares was worse than having to examine his own mind, a place he usually chose not to investigate. Her approval would have meant so much to him at one time but now he had to fight not to take offense that something as simple as mediation could win her respect yet she still considered him lacking in so many other ways. Obi-Wan rose from his seated position without looking at Virmu. He understood her reasons for why she had done what she did in the past, but he could not accept them, nor her continued treatment of him as an inconvenience.

Obi-Wan shifted his feet slightly, brushing a hand through his short rust-colored hair. The room’s lights had been turned on, the strips along the ceiling edges lighting up the area with the similar cool tones that Qui-Gon’s room had had. Virmu was dressed in her usual dark brown tunic and cloak, her bootsteps measured as she crossed the main area.

“We do not have time to examine every shipyard but it is important that we gather more information from the engineers and civilians.”

She waited for his response and Obi-Wan tilted his head in a nod.

“Yes, Master,” he said simply, reaching for his cloak.

He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sink into a dreamless sleep. Talking to Qui-Gon had been harrowing, the man’s respect and compassion for him an odd gift that Obi-Wan didn’t know what to do with. He paused, his back to Virmu as he tugged his cloak on, recalling suddenly how it had felt to have Qui-Gon touch him voluntarily, the larger man holding him. Obi-Wan frowned lightly, looking down at his hands. He had never been embraced before, had never had someone touch him out of kindness. It had been strange, though not unpleasant.

Obi-Wan felt himself flush as he thought of Qui-Gon’s arms surrounding him, the strength and gentleness of the older man, Qui-Gon freely giving and Obi-Wan unsure of how to receive. He had tried to return the embrace but he knew he had been awkward at it. As far as he knew, there seemed to be no precise instructions on how to hold someone. Obi-Wan shook his head slightly, tugging his cloak closed. Thinking on the matter only confused him more.

There was no mention of food as they prepared to leave. Obi-Wan rarely ate in the mornings, as Master Virmu’s species had a limited appetite, he had grown accustom to eating once a day. There were little opportunities to eat more than that, especially when they were on a mission. The hunger he felt was very slight, fueled more by exhaustion then anything else. Obi-Wan had known starvation as a slave and knew the stages hunger could progress to. To be always slightly hungry was not terrible, it sharpened his awareness and gave him something else to focus on. Some missions where they were expected to eat multiple times a day at political functions, allowed him to experience fullness, but it was a strange sensation, one that he felt almost indifferent too. He ate when Virmu did and usually what she ate. He had little interest in food beyond substance to keep him alive. For months after his captivity, food had tasted like dirt to him, a reminder of the little he had ate when enslaved, scraps tossed aside by the other slaves that he had dug at the cold dirt to find.

Obi-Wan looked away, his jaw tightened slightly, feeling the familiar uneasiness descend, his mind crawling with dark images. Speaking to Qui-Gon had only made it more real, jumbled sounds and scents recalled instantly only to fade before fully realizing them. He had wanted to tell the man, even knowing that it would bring him back closer to the confusing memories. After Virmu’s deliberate refusal to consider his stance on imprisoning the Trevsins, his need to confide in someone had outweighed his need to remain in control. Now that it was done, he would have to deal with the pain being dug up, the pieces of what had happened shifting through his mind, trying to find how they fit together.

Virmu was waiting for him, clawed hands clasped, her gaze level. Obi-Wan returned it. He did not feel ashamed of seeking out Qui-Gon, but he did not want to deal with Virmu’s disapproval if she were to know where he had been last night. He would have to ensure that Virmu would not find out that he had spoken at all about his past. He wasn’t even supposed to remember it, as it was.

“We’ll start with the left shipyard,” Virmu announced as they exited their rooms.

Obi-Wan inclined his head in a nod and followed her, a few steps behind as was proper for a padawan.

The hotel was quiet, still mostly empty except for the occasional early-rising Duro who passed them with a murmured greeting and a slight bow or raised hands in welcome. Their presence as Jedi seemed to be known by many of the Duros who expressed calm gratitude in their gestures when greeting them.

They took a small turbolift down to the main lobby area, the dark metal walls of the lift surrounding them so that Obi-Wan had to force himself to remain calm and in control. His breathing evened slightly as they left the enclosed area, exiting into the lobby. A few Duros moved around the area, talking quietly to one another. Most wore the dark green coveralls of engineers, though a few were dressed well enough that Obi-Wan surmised them to be governmental officers.

Through the long windows in the lobby they had a direct view into the shipyards. Virmu and Obi-Wan crossed the black tiled floor at a steady pace, exiting through large sliding doors and out onto a small raised platform that sloped down a few meters, leading straight onto the duracrete surface of the nearest shipyard.

The lights of the shipyard mimicked a sense of daylight, but there was no escaping the endlessness of space above and around the massive shipyard. Obi-Wan glanced up towards the stars, wondering what it was like to live permanently without suns or moons that set and rose, or a planet to walk on.

The majority of Duros seemed content with living in spaceports and shipyards but even a spacefaring race as themselves still had their small splinter groups hoping for recolonization. Obi-Wan had read of the few proposed attempts to restore parts of Duro’s damaged surface but so far little had been done, as Duro government focused exclusively on matters of shipyard business. The abandonment of Duro to pollution was something that garnered critical articles from environmentalists, however, most Duros considered their spaceports and shipyards their homes, and for those lucky enough to reside on the Duro Starshipwright Shipyard, leaving was not an option they considered.

They walked further into the shipyard, Obi-Wan angling his head to see the ship under construction. In the observational room he had been aware of the scale of the ships, envisioning how the bare framework would eventually make a sleek efficient vessel. Now the ships were so large and still so barren without plating or interior work that it was only angular shapes around him, impossible to see how it could one day be a starship capable of flying. What had seemed thin wires from his view earlier were in reality huge cables balancing the massive skeleton of the unfinished ship. Obi-Wan and Virmu crossed the area leading up to the ship, dwarfed by the construction taking place.

Obi-Wan tugged his cloak tighter to him. It was cold enough to distract him slightly, but not enough that he worried for his health. He focused on the shipyard workers around them, watching them climb the large braces making up the framework of the ship. An engineer crossed their path, hauling a cart of iron bolts. Obi-Wan stepped back slightly to let the Durosian pass, Virmu and him pausing.

A vent was blowing warm air out near a pile of steel-enforced crates, tugging at their cloaks and ruffling Obi-Wan’s short hair. The warmth felt pleasant after so long surrounded by the sight chill of space. Even at the temple Virmu preferred to keep their quarters on the cooler side, as that was more comfortable for her species. She marched forward, the ridges along her scalp shifting slightly as she frowned in thought, heading towards where groups of workers were milling at the base of the ship.

Obi-Wan followed the elderly Jedi master, looking around. He had once as a small boy been interested in various spacecraft, dreaming of becoming a Jedi pilot. That dream had faded quickly upon entering adolescence and he felt uncomfortable now when he flew the small spacecraft the Jedi owned, some of the single flyers barely fitting him and Virmu. The tight enclosed space bothered him more than he could admit, bringing back recollections of similar areas where there were no escape routes and he was nothing more than an object. It was Virmu’s insistence that he always fly them that had turned him into an efficient pilot, not a genuine interest in flying.

However, Obi-Wan still admired the different ships being built from time to time when they were in a shipyard and now seeing the craftsmanship of the Duros it was not difficult to see why they lead the galaxy in shipbuilding. The ships surrounding him spoke of promise and it was clear that the engineers there were deeply committed to each construction, regardless if it was a supply shuttle or a warship.

The minimal amount of droids made it easy to spot the maintenance workers and engineers, insignia on the hem of their coverall jackets being the only indicator of rank. Most were Duros, but there were a few that were other species. Many engineers trained for years to be chosen to work at a Duro shipyard, as both the pay and employee treatment were much improved compared to other shipyards.

Master Virmu had stopped a worker and was talking to them quietly in Durese. Obi-Wan hung back, as he knew only fragments of the language. On Sh’Tar’va, the slave population had been diverse, there had been a few Duros there and it was a language many others knew as well. Obi-Wan had learned only a few words during his enslavement, never enough to communicate. Hearing it now, spoken so freely by the Duros and Virmu made it that much more surreal, recalling the bleakness of the camps, a Durosian, too weak to work, begging piteously before being executed by the guards while one of the Sh’kil watched, his pale face flat with boredom.

Obi-Wan shook his head, breathing tightly, his hands shaking as he clenched them at his sides. He was still unsure if the memories he uncovered were entirely real or something created in his nightmares. In many ways he had pieced together his past from his dreams. It had been frightening at first, not understanding why he kept dreaming of being underground, of cold dirt and ice and the stale smell of bodies pressed near in the darkness. There was still so much that remained blank to him.

Obi-Wan lifted his chin, willing himself to focus on his surroundings. The memories were only particularly strong because he had openly spoken of them. They would fade over time. They had to.

He watched Virmu gesture with a clawed hand, the dark bindings along her wrists catching the shipyard lights. Obi-Wan stood slightly away from her. He had learned how to remain quiet and invisible when conducting a mission with Virmu, each of them silently working to avoid the other when they could. Though in many ways they worked as a team, their lack of a master-apprentice bond was telling. They could not sense one another and resented any mental contact with each other. At the core of each interaction were the reminders of his brief enslavement. She could not accept his continued difficulties and he could not forgive her for abandoning him when he most needed it.

Obi-Wan exhaled through his nose, scanning the shipyard. He had been Virmu’s padawan for twelve years. The amount of time before he faced the trials was growing short. It was up to Virmu to decide when he was ready, so it was entirely possible that he would be in his thirties before reaching Jedi knight status. However, Obi-Wan doubted Virmu wanted him around that long. Perhaps in a few more years she would suggest his knighting to the council.

For many padawans the trials were a time of difficulty, where an apprentice must conquer their deepest fears and leave their master’s side forever. Obi-Wan did not feel dread over leaving Virmu, nor did he fear the trials. There was little that he had not been subject to in the Sh’kil camps. And he did not have to fear the council bringing up those memories, as they believed them to be erased. Virmu in her own way continued to shield him from their questions, choosing to remain silent to the council when asked about what Obi-Wan recalled.

Obi-Wan tucked his hands in his cloak sleeves, appreciating the warm air rustling over him from the vents, feeling suddenly tired enough that he wanted only to sleep. He no longer cared about the dreams that would come.

Obi-Wan swallowed, drawing on the Force for control, frowning as he felt it slip loose before he was able to mentally tighten his grasp. He glanced up as Virmu approached him, her brow furrowed,

“The maintenance workers place blame without considering evidence,” she stated.

Obi-Wan waited to see if she wanted him to respond but she twitched her shoulder, a Grelian mannerism of irritation that she still retained, and turned away. He kept silent on the matter as they continued walking, stopping often to let workers hurry by. As they ducked under bracing for the ship’s long sloped tail, they passed a large group of engineers that were discussing interior control systems, one of them held up a long hand before breaking off and walking quickly towards them. Obi-Wan and Virmu both paused. The engineer was a female Durosian, her coveralls insignia depicting a higher rank in engineering.

“You are the Jedi?” she asked bluntly, but not unfriendly, her slit pupils narrowing slightly in the brightness of light around them.

Virmu bowed slightly and Obi-Wan did as well. The Durosian’s skin was bluer then most Duros and Obi-Wan recognized her as the one engineer who had spoken to Baniss-Ena the night before on the way to their transport.

“We are here to investigate the recent thefts,” Virmu responded.

The Durosian woman’s welcoming smile faded, she waved a hand behind her, gesturing to the group of engineers to go on without her.

“Theft is hardly the word for it, Master Jedi, those criminals are cold-blooded space trash to take one of our prized vessels. Two years of hard labor on that last ship, now gone! Days of endless work wasted!”

She shook her head before extending her palms up.

“My apologies, I am Kiom Jokol, head engineer for Shipyard four and seven. I have been working closely with Duro Security Forces to maintain the safety of my ships, but it seems hopeless.”

She frowned, she was shorter, and slightly stockier than most Duros, her expression creased with determination.

Virmu tilted her head.

“We have begun investigation but we are unsure where to go, perhaps you would have a suggestion?”

Obi-Wan waited, watching Kiom’s lipless mouth move thoughtfully. Virmu’s diplomatic skills were extremely important at times like these. Kiom thought before finally shrugging,

“It’s not my place to interfere with what security is doing, but I’d personally consider the Corellians,” she leaned towards them slightly, “They’ve never accepted that our superior craftsmanship is why we sell more ships then they do. And their planet is filled with crime, cutthroat mentality without honor. Some of their business partners are nothing more then smugglers.”

She huffed in frustration.

“The Company has tightened security concerning visitors now, but it doesn’t change the fact that there are Corellians already here. A group of them meet at The Star Field nearly every night, bragging about how much money they will make now that we have fewer buyers.”

Kiom shook her head angrily before stepping back slightly, nodding to the ship behind her.

“These ships are priceless, we can’t afford to lose anymore.”

“I understand,” Virmu spoke soothingly, moving forward and slightly to the right as a worker bustled by.

Kiom nodded, opening her mouth before swiveling as a bang came behind her from a large machine being transported across the duracrete,

“Bring that past maintenance!” she called, turning back towards them, “Forgive me; I have much work to do.”

Virmu and Obi-Wan bowed, Virmu saying something in Duroese. Kiom smiled slightly, tossing a salute before jogging off. Obi-Wan watched her leave, frowning in thought. He glanced at Virmu who was surveying the area with her sharp golden eyes.

“The Corellians are a possibility,” Obi-Wan ventured, meeting her stern look.

She watched him for a moment before turning away.

“The Corellians are not likely to risk more exposure of their crimes. They are the easy target for the Duros to blame. You must open your mind to other options, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms, regarding his master levelly.

“The Corellians are still an option, they’re close enough to the Duros that their theft would be relatively easy to hide, once in space, and they’ve been rival shipbuilders for years. Stealing wouldn’t be above them if they had something to gain–”

“Enough,” Virmu snapped, cutting him off with a wave of her clawed hand, “I do not deal with speculation.”

Obi-Wan looked away.

“Neither do I,” he said quietly, fighting to keep bitterness from seeping through his voice.

They continued walking the different shipyards throughout the day, some small enough that it took only minutes to transverse, others so large that they could only move around the outskirts of the area, talking to engineers and civilians alike. While investigation involved much more than conversation, Obi-Wan had learned through years of Jedi training that negotiation was often the key to understanding a situation. It was one of the few matters he and Virmu could agree on, though he preferred honest debating and quick answers to the more vague political responses that they often dealt with.

Popular opinion did consider the thieves to be the Corellians, at least among Duro citizens. The engineers were split between blaming the Corellians or suspecting the Sy Myrthian ship builders. There were a few more far-fetched opinions such as other smaller shipbuilding corporations or the Neimodians, but generally the Duros supported the two most realistic possibilities.

While Virmu led the questioning, Obi-Wan kept an eye out for unusual occurrences, things that non-Force sensitives would find difficult to see. Throughout the day he observed that there was little difference between the jobs performed by high ranking engineers and regular workers. There also didn’t seem to be any inequality among Duros and non-Duros. On any shipyard or space city of Duro, every civilian worked, without a hierarchy or class structure. Obi-wan frowned slightly, it was unusual to see a business society not willing to sacrifice the individual for the sake of the product. It would be something he would have to discuss with Virmu, if she was willing to listen.

Obi-Wan kept slightly behind Virmu, drawing on the Force in order to remain alert. Even the faint gnawing hunger could not keep him entirely focused. He was inquisitive enough about the ships and their mission that the investigation work pushed aside some of his tiredness, but he could not fully escape it. He estimated that he had not slept a full night’s sleep in at least two days as his nightmares had become much worse since the mission had been assigned.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly as they paused to let a ground shuttle pass. His shields were still weakened enough that he could faintly sense Qui-Gon somewhere within their vicinity. He did not reach for Virmu’s mind. Her shields were tightly controlled and superior to his, he could only sense her if she wished to have her presence known. Obi-wan watched his master move around the bow of a half-constructed small ship, speaking in rapid Duroese to two maintenance workers. He stayed where he was, surveying the area with sharp eyes.

Something, a faint scent perhaps, drifted towards him and Obi-Wan blinked, feeling suddenly dizzy. He inhaled, tasting the air for chemicals but there was nothing beyond the normal compounds used in shipyards. He crossed his arms, exhaling quietly. It was no doubt that any unsteadiness stemmed from his exhaustion and the conversation he had had with Qui-Gon.

Virmu walked back to him, the lines in her face looking particularly deep as she glanced sternly at him.

“We should return to the hotel, Padawan. There is much that needs to be discussed.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head in a small nod. Virmu’s mouth thinned slightly but she shook her head without saying anything, Obi-Wan following her as they strode back to the Builder’s Hotel.

They walked through the city distract this time, the streets clean and surprisingly not crowded. The city was very small, compared to Coruscant or in relation to the size of the shipyard. It was colder than the shipyards and Obi-Wan drew his cloak nearer to him, concentrating on keeping his body from shivering. He looked up towards the Builder’s Hotel in the distance. Without suns to measure time frames, he was unsure of how late it was, though he speculated that it was most likely what consisted of afternoon for Duros.

As they neared the hotel Obi-Wan could feel Qui-Gon’s Force-sense hum through him, the younger Jedi’s mind shields rising instinctively to block the presence that unknowingly tried to seep through. He glanced towards Virmu but she gave no indication that she sensed that Qui-Gon was near. Obi-Wan looked straight ahead, focusing on keeping himself cut off from Qui-Gon. It was difficult, the man’s way of processing the Force was intriguing but Obi-wan had no choice. It was not safe to allow his mind to be touched by others, or to touch their minds. He was still considered dangerous.

They paused outside the hotel, waiting for a small group of Duro politicians to leave before entering the lobby. Rumun Arapto bowed to them from behind the front desk as they crossed the small room and both Obi-Wan and Virmu made gestures of acknowledgement back.

In the corner of the lobby Qui-Gon was standing, talking quietly to Levet, the Durosian officer who had escorted them earlier. Qui-Gon’s back was to them but there was no mistaking the long hair, the broad shoulders, and tall frame that towered over Levet. Obi-Wan glanced away, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable. He swallowed, forcing himself to look back towards Qui-Gon. It was foolish to lose control, or to deny that things had changed in some way after Qui-Gon had held him.

“Master Jedi!” Levet exclaimed as Virmu and Obi-Wan drew closer.

Qui-Gon turned and automatically Obi-Wan glanced up, meeting the deep blue eyes before he looked away. He did not immediately see pity in the way Qui-Gon looked at him, but there was no escaping the strange closeness that had grown out of their discussion last night.

He was not sure if the closeness was wanted. He had never had someone listen to him in such a way. While he felt drawn to Qui-Gon, it was doubtful that they would have much time together to discuss more as they would only have contact for the length of the mission. Once the mission was complete their paths would most likely not cross again for years.

“Rumun informed me that you were both out walking,” Levet said, his lipless mouth turning up into a friendly smile.

Virmu nodded politely, turning her head to look up at Qui-Gon,

“I trust that your meeting went well?” she asked.

Obi-Wan glanced between the two before focusing on Qui-Gon. Last night he had seen the older man fight to restrain his anger towards Virmu. There was a slight edge to the man’s words, hidden deep enough that Obi-Wan doubted even Virmu heard it when Qui-Gon responded.

“For the most part.”

The taller man nodded to Levet.

“Officer Levet was good enough to provide me with transportation after my meeting with Baniss-Ena and enlighten me about ancient Duro botany.”

Levet waved a slender hand good-naturedly.

“It is an area of interest for me; Master Jinn was kind enough to listen.”

He raised both palms and Obi-Wan and the others did the same.

“Perhaps I will see you tomorrow,” he remarked with a small smile before saluting and walking towards the door, giving a friendly wave to Rumun who responded with the casual quietness that all Duros seemed to have.

Qui-Gon turned back towards their group after Levet had left.

“Baniss-Ena is worried about Duro’s financial situation. The thefts have strained Duro economy and several groups are now expressing an interest in taking a share of Duro, if their business collapses,” he spoke with quiet firmness.

Virmu tilted her ridged head in a nod.

“The engineers are concerned as well. The last ship stolen was a highly prized vessel that the Duros were commissioned by the Las/koa to build. Now the Las/koa are angry and want their investment refunded. As for the matter of the thefts, the head engineer suspects the Corellians, as does Obi-Wan.”

She glanced sideways at Obi-Wan who lifted his shoulder.

“Popular opinion seems to consider the Corellians a threat. They have no intention of letting go of old grudges when it comes to the Duros.”

Qui-Gon frowned.

“Old grudges?” he asked curiously and Obi-Wan paused, meeting the man’s blue eyes again.

“The trade sector dispute is a decades old argument about who truly owns trade sector 48357.73.02 as it technically resides in both Duro and Corellian space. One hundred and seventy-three years ago, the Corellians were willing to go to war about it but the Duros managed to enlist the Senate’s aid and have the area declared as part of their jurisdiction. Since it’s hardly more then two hundred kilometers and has only an old and extremely small refueling port as its main attraction, both actions were propelled more by ancient animosity than an actual legit reason for claiming ownership.”

Obi-Wan shifted his gaze to Virmu, speaking in a low voice to prevent any of the few Duros in the lobby from overhearing.

“The head engineer, Kiom, suggested that a possible blockade is happening now, with Duro security preventing Corellian ships from landing at the shipyard. If the Corellians are frustrated by what they view as prejudice, the ones that already reside here could feel vindicated to continue to steal from the Duros.”

“Actions that would only bring their crimes to the Senate’s attention,” Virmu reminded him.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

“Only if they get caught, which Corellians are very good at avoiding.”

“The Corellians are plausible suspects and they do have a more direct motive then other players,” Qui-Gon said quietly, “However, Baniss-Ena considers the Sy Myrthians more of a threat. They would gain a large amount of political power if allowed to buy into the shipbuilding business. It’s possible they are behind the thefts.”

The older man turned towards Virmu and Obi-Wan felt his shields shift, weakened by his own exhaustion, aware that Qui-Gon was still repressing his anger towards Obi-Wan’s master.

“Did you find any other information?” he asked, and Virmu shook her head.

“Very little, besides the location of the local Corellians here.”

Qui-Gon looked over at Obi-Wan momentarily before clasping his hands behind his back.

“We must move quickly on the investigation, the Sy Myrthians are already in the process of negotiation for buying a smaller Duro shipyard.”

“If the Duros lose their business, they lose everything,” Obi-Wan said softly, crossing his arms, “one of us should investigate the Corellians, while someone else takes the Sy Myrthians.”

Virmu mouth flexed slightly into a grimace before she spoke.

“I have worked with Sy Myrthians before, it would be best if I discuss the matter with them.”

Obi-Wan nodded. Virmu’s diplomatic skills were needed when dealing with the shrewd and ambitious Sy Myrthians.

“I can take the Corellians,” Qui-Gon declared.

Virmu stepped back.

“I should leave immediately; negotiations with the Sy Myrthians can be time-consuming.”

Qui-Gon nodded, turning towards Obi-Wan.

“I presume we will meet later to discuss this?” he asked them both.

Virmu’s golden eyes gleamed in the cool bluish light.

“I am not bringing Obi-Wan with me, the diplomacy required is too sensitive.”

Obi-Wan didn’t blink. He had already come to the conclusion that Virmu would not want him present when dealing with the Sy Myrthians. Her way of stating it left much to be desired but the implied insult barely stung after years of being considered untrustworthy or incapable by her. Qui-Gon hadn’t moved except to turn his head more in Virmu’s direction, his gaze remained calm, but there was a fire there, tightly contained.

“I see your regard for your padawan’s abilities has not changed,” Qui-Gon said mildly, his words held a hidden layer of contempt that Obi-Wan had not heard before from the older man.

He spoke quickly before an argument could break out.

“The Corellians meet at a local bar called The Star Field every night,” Obi-Wan informed Qui-Gon, before turning towards his master, “Do you wish to have me available to you via comlink?”

When she shook her head Obi-Wan nodded and stepped back slightly, watching as Qui-Gon surveyed the empty lobby, the man’s crooked nose catching the light.

“We’ll meet after the investigations,” The older man finally said shortly.

Virmu inclined her ridged scalp before walking quickly towards the lobby desk, no doubt to ask Rumun Arapto about where the Sy Myrthians were located. After she had exited the lobby through the massive dark metal doors, Qui-Gon turned to Obi-Wan.

“I want you with me when I speak with the Corellians,” he stated.

Obi-Wan turned to look at him.

“My master did not request that I –”

Qui-Gon shook his head,

“I don’t care,” he said sharply.

Qui-Gon was still angry at Virmu, a tugging weight against Obi-Wan’s shields that the younger man frowned slightly at. He did not understand the scope of Qui-Gon’s anger, why it was so strong. Virmu had not betrayed The Code in her actions in the past, she had betrayed Obi-Wan, but he was aware of that, he was not sure why Qui-Gon was so upset on his behalf.

He looked up at the man, examining the sloped brow, the higher cheekbones, the scruffy beard and long hair that was pulled back partway. Qui-Gon’s age was hard to tell, the man still looked young in many ways, only the grey in his hair and the slight lines around his mouth and his eyes showed him as being middle-aged. There was a calm wisdom to Qui-Gon’s face, as well as a timeless sort of beauty. Obi-Wan looked away, repressing the sudden rise of heat to his face.

“The Corellians will not take lightly to being questioned by Jedi,” he remarked.

The older man tilted his head in thought.

“Our presence here is already known, However, I don’t believe that we would be as recognizable in civilian clothing.”

Qui-Gon regarded Obi-Wan suddenly, his gaze piercing.

“It will be awhile before nightfall. Or what constitutes as such here. I can meet you in the observation room then and we’ll leave together to talk to the Corellians.”

Obi-Wan considered the matter. He was risking Virmu’s ever present disapproval by leaving with Qui-Gon, but there was little he could do about that. He glanced up at the older man.

“Why do you want me to go with you?” he asked bluntly.

Qui-Gon regarded him quietly, his anger had seeped away so that Obi-Wan could now sense an elusive sensation of contentment radiating from the man.

“For many reasons, I suppose. First, that you have already compiled a large amount of research on the interaction between the Corellians and the Duros. Second, that you are very clever and capable of seeing what could be easily overlooked in conversations. Third, I do not think it is fair that only Jedi masters be allowed a hand in this.”

He paused, a small almost-smile on the corners of his mouth.

“And I also happen to enjoy your company.”

Obi-Wan looked hard at him, searching the man’s expression for uncertainty, before nodding slowly.

“Would four hours from now be an appropriate time to meet?” he asked, and Qui-gon dipped his head in a nod.

Four hours would provide him with time to mediate, to strengthen his faltering shields, as well as study what else he could find on the Corellian and Duro trade relationship. He looked at Qui-Gon for a moment, trying to think of what it would be like, working with another Jedi, he had never been allowed to do so before but now Qui-Gon was requesting his presence. It was a relief to know the man did not think Obi-Wan too weak or hindered by his past to be of use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm super excited for the next chapter! whose with me? :)
> 
> i feel i should state that a lot of what Obi-Wan thinks or feels is because of the trauma he's endured. while Obi-Wan doesn't have an eating disorder he does have unhealthy ways of regarding food. i am not trying to promote anything pro-ana at all. oftentimes with disorders such as PTSD, other disorders can occur, Obi-Wan suffers from claustrophobia as well. Obi-Wan has had such little support for what he's had to deal with, that he tends to use control as a coping mechanism, but not always in the best ways, hence why he feels a need to keep Qui-Gon at a distance while being drawn to him at the same time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! i'm sorry that these chapters are taking longer. my school schedule is really picking up as i'm getting closer to mid-term. i hate to do it, but i think i'll have to switch to updating once every two weeks, otherwise i'm struggling to get the chapters done on time. my sister was in Chicago this week, so she was unable to get more chapter art up, but i did forget to mention on last update that the chapter art for chapter 3 and chapter 4 are up if you all want to check that out :). 
> 
> this chapter is a bit different than the others, so let me know what you think! :)

The Star Field turned out to be the closest thing that the Duros had to a disreputable location. Qui-Gon scanned through what little information he could find on the computer, thumbing past the blue images that rose up, different holo accounts of drunkenness and gambling. Though Duros strayed away from sensationalized news media, their accounts of incidents that happened at the Star Field leaned more towards a disapproving tone. There were certainly some issues involved with the area but overall Qui-Gon didn’t consider the location too alarming, he had been to much more dangerous and seedier bars on other missions. Qui-Gon leaned back in his chair, tapping down the computer screen and restoring the slight security access field that the Duro hotel had applied earlier to anyone using their technology without proper codes.

He stood, pushing his hair behind his shoulders from where it hung loose. He was hoping that by leaving it down it would obscure his features more and give him some level of anonymity at the bar. Civilian clothing helped him to blend in, but his height alone would single him out. Obi-Wan would no doubt find it much easier to disappear into a crowd.

He would meet Obi-Wan in a few minutes, provided the man wasn’t waylaid by orders from Virmu. Qui-Gon paused, he still had not been able to let go of his anger towards Virmu, a matter that would have concerned him if he didn’t feel that his anger was entirely justified. What must it be like for Obi-Wan to spend everyday with such a master, constantly being told that he was dangerous, or useless? It was not surprising that Obi-Wan’s shields were low enough that Qui-Gon had sensed exhaustion and dull misery from the younger man when they had talked in the lobby earlier. He frowned thoughtfully, wondering if he was demanding too much in wanting Obi-Wan by his side when dealing with the Corellians, but he did not want the man constantly left behind to do only the work that Virmu allowed him.

Qui-Gon tugged slightly at the hem of his shirt. It was a deep burgundy color, long sleeved and loose enough that he supposed it might have once been owned by someone both taller and wider than him. It fell open at the throat, exposing more of his collarbones and chest than he was used to with his layered Jedi tunics, but it couldn’t be helped, as a rule he only packed one piece of civilian clothing, in case a situation would arise where it would be needed. He wore the dark brown pants of his Jedi uniform, the trouser hems pulled down over his boots, as opposed to being tucked in. His utility belt was hidden by the large shirt, effectively concealing his lightsaber, though he doubted he would need it.

Qui-Gon stepped out of his quarters, walking quickly towards the observational room. The area held a few Duros and other non-Duro civilians, a small group were huddled on the astronomy platform, murmuring about protoplanet development in the Fre’kor sector. Qui-Gon walked around the edge of the shadowed room, stopping to stand in front of the second window where the shipyard lights gleamed brightly.

He gazed down at the massive ship being built and wondered how something so huge could be so easily stolen without leaving evidence. Qui-Gon crossed his arms, he had raised that question to Baniss-Ena when he had been informed of the size of the ships that had been stolen, but he had not received an adequate answer. He did not consider Baniss-Ena to be concealing the truth, or to be incompetent, the Durosian was simply too understaffed to intensely investigate the thefts. The meeting with the head security officer had only raised further concerns regarding the thefts in Qui-Gon’s opinion. No true suspects had merged besides the most obvious, each Durosian investigation only turning up loose ends. Qui-Gon sighed, smiling ruefully at his own impatience. With Virmu speaking to the Sy Myrthians and Obi-Wan and him meeting the Corellians, they would hopefully have a much more concise selection of information at the end of the night. Regardless of what he thought of Virmu, her diplomacy skills were well-known throughout the temple, she would do what she could to persuade the Sy Myrthians to speak honestly.

Something, not a sound, but a slight awareness hummed at the back of Qui-Gon’s mind and he turned without knowing it. Obi-Wan was entering the dark room, Qui-Gon recognizing him by his slim form and determined stride. The younger man moved around a Durosian, stepping into the light coming from outside and pausing, eyes tracking the area, looking around for Qui-Gon. There was a moment of stillness, where Qui-Gon saw the other Jedi before Obi-Wan saw him. The younger man looked so different in civilian clothes that absurdly, Qui-Gon felt almost shy. Obi-Wan was not wearing a cloak but a jacket of a light faded blue color. The cut of the simple, reliable fabric was not unusual for many starship pilots to wear and would make it easier for Obi-Wan to blend in. the man’s pants were brown, slightly sturdier and more form-fitting than what he wore as a Jedi. He, like Qui-Gon, still wore his practical Jedi boots.

In seconds, Obi-Wan saw him and made his way towards Qui-Gon with his particular focused walk, not breaking eye contact. He stopped next to Qui-Gon, hands clasped behind him. Up-close the lights from the shipyard highlighted Obi-Wan’s face. The younger man looked more rested then he had earlier but there was still that strain there that never quite went away. The muted blue of his coat emphasized his unusual eye color and the faint freckles that seemed only visible in certain lights. Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan’s short reddish hair, the padawan braid falling loosely over the shoulder.

“Your hair may still be too noticeable,” he remarked, and Obi-Wan shrugged.

“I’ll pull my hood up when we leave.”

The younger man paused, a faint line between his brows.

“I need to know what your plans are regarding the Corellians,” he said shortly.

Qui-Gon nodded.

“It is best if we approach them as enterprising businessmen that are thinking of switching to commissioning Corellian shipbuilders, now that the thefts are happening.”

“Do you think that they’ll feel comfortable enough to speak openly in front of us, because we want to buy from them?”

Qui-Gon smiled.

“It’s an idea.”

Obi-Wan lifted an eyebrow slightly, signaling doubt, but nodded. They left without further conversation, Qui-Gon allowing Obi-Wan to take the lead as they crossed the observation room, exiting into a narrow corridor. Obi-Wan paused momentarily in front of the turbolift that led down to the lobby before striding into it, Qui-Gon following. The moment the doors closed Qui-Gon could sense unease that was not connected to him. He looked sharply at Obi-Wan who was staring stoically ahead, the younger man’s scarred hands clenched loosely at his sides. Qui-Gon recalled Virmu saying that Obi-Wan did not like enclosed spaces.

“We could see if they had stairs,” he said quietly.

Obi-Wan shook his head without looking at him, his shields rising fast enough that Qui-Gon felt only muted sensations that were not his own reflect against his mind before retreating into blankness.

“It doesn’t matter,” Obi-Wan muttered, and Qui-Gon frowned.

He opened his mouth to argue but the lift had landed and Obi-Wan was already striding into the lobby, tugging his hood up and tucking his braid inside. The younger man did not look at him until they were outside the hotel, the shipyard lights creating a brightness that resembled daylight. Obi-Wan stopped suddenly, turning towards him.

“The Star Field is past shipyard four; it may take us a while to get there on foot.”

In the bright light the blue of Obi-Wan’s coat further drew attention to his eyes, which Qui-Gon had not yet been able to clarify their color, now they appeared vivid blue-green, but he had seen them almost gray and very green at other times. With Obi-Wan’s hood pulled up he looked less like a Jedi than ever and it was only the quick way he moved, his stance when standing still that spoke of discipline and years of training.

They ended up taking an airtaxi to The Star Field, the vehicle open enough that Obi-Wan did not appear unsettled about the small space but instead sat deep in thought. Qui-Gon sat near him, looking down at the smaller man who was staring off into the distance as the shuttle glided through shipyards, weaving around the massive ships being built.

“What are you thinking about?” Qui-Gon asked quietly, knowing that Obi-Wan would most likely not answer, but wondering all the same.

Obi-Wan looked up at him, the shipyard lights catching against the planes of his face, accenting the high cheekbones, the small nose and mouth.

“Economics,” he said, his low voice soft next to Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon blinked.

“You think about economics during your free time?” he asked curiously.

Obi-Wan’s own expression cleared, and surprisingly his mouth moved in a small smile,

“I hardly think that investigating a group of Corellians of possible mass theft with the intention of destabilizing Duro government, at a bar of reputable review, as being ‘free time’.”

Qui-Gon grinned, pushing his silvered hair back from where it had fallen in his way.

“Then tonight will be illuminating.”

Obi-Wan gave him a sideways look, but that very small smile was still there, making him appear both younger and older. The airtaxi slowed, hovering over Shipyard Five before settling low enough for them to climb out.

The Star Field bar was located under a small shipyard, where a ramp from the construction area led down to an underground room that hummed with the subtle noise of talking and glasses clinking. The lack of loud music was a welcome sign in Qui-Gon’s view, as it would make it easier to carry on conversations. The bar area was large, with low ceilings and dim bluish lighting, the walls and floor constructed from plain duracrete. Several gambling games were being played in one corner of the room while groups mingled and talked in other areas. It was clear that The Star Field was where most non-duros went to in the evening, for very few individuals in the bar were Durosians.

Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan who nodded. They moved away from each other, melting into the crowds, keeping an ear out for a Corellian accent. Qui-Gon searched the bar area inconspicuously, moving into the main area. He passed a group of Twi’lek women who were arguing over how best to repair a T17-46 engine, while a large Aqualish pushed past him, mumbling into his drink. Qui-Gon stopped for a moment, focusing on the mass amount of people around him, pulling and straining their presences through the Force, allowing the Living Force to guide him.

It wasn’t so much Obi-Wan reaching to him, as much as an acknowledgement of his silent question. He turned, moving quickly towards the game tables. A group of four humans were seated around a small round table, playing an unusual game that required holocards, a circular board and strange silver coins that seemed to signify a certain amount of credits. One of the players was smaller than the others, the faded blue of his jacket clearly recognizable, even with the hood up. Qui-Gon stopped a few paces away and Obi-Wan turned in his chair.

“Ah, here he is,” he said and Qui-Gon realized that Obi-Wan’s slight accent had shifted.

He found Obi-Wan’s voice unique for the faint low rolling sound that merged with his Coruscant accent, but now it had lightened and become tighter, his accent fading and merging into something nearer to an Outer Rim dialect. Obi-Wan had slumped slightly in his chair, the motion suggestively casual and he gestured loosely to an empty chair near him.

“Sit down, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon did, offering a small smile to the group who eyed him with interest. Two of them were men, one looking near Qui-Gon’s age, the other stranger was a woman most likely in her early thirties.

“Your friend here says that you’ve been thinking of switching to buying Corellian-made,” the woman declared, her accent clarifying her as being Corellian at once.

Her skin was ebony dark, gleaming in the bluish light. She wore a tight pilot’s jacket that only emphasized her thick curves and the subtle way she was leaning towards Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan who was shifting holocards in his hand. While the woman’s beauty was clearly deeply appealing to the two men she was with, Obi-Wan remained oblivious.

“Yes, I considered commissioning the Duros for building, but these thefts aren’t too encouraging.”

One of the men in the group snorted, throwing a holocard down so that it hovered above the board in front of him. The white-blue glow of the card caught the bluish light of the bar, reflecting it slightly.

“Damn Neimoidians,” he muttered under his breath, his accent also Corellian.

The dark-skinned woman shot the man an exasperated look.

“What did I tell you about calling them Neimoidians, Tarv? The Duros go crazy if you insult them that way.”

“They look like Neimoidians!” Tarv sputtered indignantly, brushing his blonde hair out of his eyes.

“If we relied only on our looks to support our ways in life, the galaxy would be very small,” Obi-Wan said with quiet amusement, laying down a card and tossing a few coins into the center of the board.

The board suddenly rotated, the holocards disappearing, only to reappear with two cards missing, except for Obi-Wan’s hand. There were groans around the table and some mild grumbling as Obi-Wan collected coins from the others.

“I think you’d make out alright, with only looks to sustain you,” The woman said, a small roguish smile on her full lips.

Qui-Gon shifted his gaze to Obi-Wan who blinked, only now seeming aware of the woman’s interest.

“So you don’t want Duro ships?” the other man in the group grunted.

He didn’t have a Corellian accent, but seemed to know the others well. His jacket was creased with years of wear, his unshaven face and haggard appearance made him look older and decidedly morose.

“Well, I was interested beforehand…” Qui-Gon trailed off and the woman near him nodded.

“I’m Ilday; I’ve ran a few Corellian ships in my time and they handle well. Much more affordable than the Duro stuff made here.”

“Plus the Duros can’t keep their own ships safe. I don’t feel right about leaving mine unattended,” The unshaven man supplied, staring gloomily at his cards.

“Gris, no one’s going to want to steal that piece of shit you fly,” Ilday pointed out.

Gris looked offended but the other man in the group grinned. Ilday laid down her own cards and Obi-Wan leaned back in his chair, frowning faintly at his hand. The game did not seem to have a clear objective that Qui-Gon could make out, but it was interesting to watch how easily Obi-Wan morphed into someone different, a much more relaxed, spontaneous person. A group of engineers, still in their green flightsuits, passed them, talking rapidly about a different shipyard and Ilday waited for them to pass before speaking again.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t trust these Duros, not with the fact that they keep losing ships.”

Qui-Gon nodded and Obi-Wan leaned forward, his hood shielding his eyes as he tossed a few silver coins into the center of the board,

“I bet they think the Sy Myrthians are behind it,” he said, his Outer Rim accent still difficult to pin down to a single system, but effective enough that any trace of his former accent was gone.

The blonde-haired man, Tarv, shrugged.

“Probably. Or they’re out there blaming us because they don’t have the sense to cut a deal with others. Duros will swear up and down they’re not like Neimoidians, but they’re just the same, greedy cowardly bastards. They’ll do anything to maintain their business.”

Qui-Gon blinked.

“How so?” he asked curiously, reaching out with the Force subtly, shifting through the man’s bigotry, looking for clues.

“Well,” Tarv lowered his voice, his expression shifting into earnestness, “I’ve heard there are real Neimoidians at one of the nearby space cities, arguing about some trade dispute with the Duros. The Duros won’t listen to them at all. Of course, we all know how they feel about maintaining their trade sectors.”

He glowered darkly and the rest of the group mumbled, even Ilday’s round face creased with a frown.

“If you really want to buy fast and affordable ships, I’d buy from Corellians. I’m not in the selling business, but I can arrange something.”

Qui-Gon nodded, glancing at Obi-Wan who smiled faintly. They did not need words to convey their thoughts on the matter and Qui-Gon knew Obi-Wan felt similar to him.

“You know,” Obi-Wan remarked nonchalantly, steering the conversation into a different direction, “I’ve been thinking that maybe this isn’t really the best place to be, I mean now that the Duros are letting whole ships disappear, what’s going to happen next?”

The group nodded thoughtfully. Ilday seemed on the verge of answering when one of the men set a card down so that the round board rotated again and holocards disappeared to half-hearted shouts of protest. Obi-Wan swore good-naturedly, reshuffling his hand and Qui-Gon looked over at him in concealed surprise and amusement. Obi-Wan grinned.

It was the first time Qui-Gon had seen more than a shadow of a smile from him. it transformed Obi-Wan’s face, his eyes gleaming in the bluish light, the look was so sudden, so happy that Qui-Gon reached out, touching Obi-Wan’s arm without thinking about it, drawn to that smile, that look that spoke of another part of Obi-Wan he had not yet seen. Obi-Wan’s smile had softened but he was still watching Qui-Gon, and Gris snorted near them.

“Better luck next time, Ilday,” he said.

Qui-Gon looked across the table at Ilday who shrugged round shoulders and smiled slightly.

“Should’ve figured when he said his partner, he meant more than business.”

She set a card down and gathered a few coins from the center of the table. Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan who blinked, his mask of casual amusement slipping only slightly before he leaned forward to play. Subtly, Qui-Gon removed his hand from Obi-Wan’s arm, filled with a sensation of overwhelming suddenness as if he had leapt blindfolded from a great height without knowing what lay beneath him.

Of course there had been other times, when working with other Jedi where such misconceptions had formed and he and the other Jedi were assumed to be lovers. But never with someone as young as Obi-Wan and never had he been the one to inadvertently suggest such a thing. He worried that the implication had alarmed Obi-Wan in some way, though he had not sensed any sudden discomfort from the slight sensations that leaked through Obi-Wan’s shields.

His own mind felt startled into confusion, there were times during his life where he had met men he was attracted to and he could openly acknowledge that Obi-Wan was attractive but he had not thought much beyond that fact. Beauty he could recognize but he never allowed himself to approach the matter as an individual, always his life as a Jedi confirmed that he could not think beyond the realm of friendship. As a Jedi he was prevented from drawing close to anyone. But he felt a need different then he had ever felt, to be close to Obi-Wan, to have a level of communication that he did not want with others.

Though the concept alone was not unsettling, Qui-Gon deliberately stopped that thought, afraid of where it would go. He looked up at the group; Ilday was counting out another set of coins while the men rearranged their cards. Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan shift slightly near him but could not quite bring himself to look at the younger man. He avoided the questions already rising inside his mind, returning his focus to the mission ahead of him.

“Don’t the Duros have security looking for the thieves?” he asked and Tarv shook his head.

“Not worth mentioning. It’s pathetic; at least on Corellia we prepare for these things.”

“If you ask me who I’d put my money on,” Gris muttered, flicking a card from his deck.

“You don’t have any money,” Tarv reminded him, and Gris glared irritably at him.

“Shut up. I’d put my money on them,” he pointed to another group on the other side of the room, Qui-Gon catching a glimpse of dark hair, purple fur and long pointed ears in the dim light.

“Vurkians,” Gris muttered, “They’re always looking for a bit of cash.”

“I thought Vurkians worked with the slave system,” Obi-Wan said quietly, Qui-Gon looked over at him quickly, and Ilday leaned forward with interest.

“have you seen Vurkian slavers in the Outer Rim?” she asked, and Obi-Wan’s expression did not change as he laid a few cards down, the light gleaming on the white scars on the back of his hand.

“From time to time,” he responded, his gaze shifting over to the Vurkians.

The hum of the Living Force, so attune to the others in the room, focused again on Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon noticing the slight rigidity in Obi-Wan’s shoulders, the difficulty it had become for the younger man to continue to smile and deal new cards. Automatically, Qui-Gon put his hand on the back of Obi-Wan’s chair, offering silent support, his own concerns forgotten. He had hoped that Obi-Wan would not have to deal with reminders of his enslavement on Duro but he was starting to see how impossible it was to leave the past behind.

“The Vurkians had to give up their slaves, some sort of argument with the Senate. They’re out of sorts about the whole thing, but I bet they still do plenty of undercover trafficking,” Ilday remarked lightly, tossing a holocard into the center of the board, the board rotated again and the men around her groaned, pushing silver coins her way.

Obi-Wan offered a small smile in their direction, before turning his head to look at Qui-Gon.

“I think I’m getting out before I end up broke.”

Qui-Gon understood it for a subtle request to leave, and he stood.

“I’ll consider your suggestions to buy Corellian.”

“Please do,” Ilday declared cheerily, resetting the board.

She nodded at Obi-Wan.

“Good play on your part; these boys don’t bring me much challenge anymore when it comes to Delvrin Cards.”

Gris and Tarv both made noises of protest and Ilday settled back in her chair, arguing lightheartedly with them. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon crossed the bar in silence, shifting around other people and walking together up the ramp and into the shipyard. Qui-Gon looked over at Obi-Wan who was moving single-mindedly forward.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

Obi-Wan looked straight ahead, walking at a swift pace.

“Why do you insist on asking me that?” the younger man demanded sharply, Qui-Gon glanced at him in open concern and confusion.

“Because I want to know.”

“Do you?” Obi-Wan said, stopping and turning abruptly to face Qui-Gon, barely a foot between them, “Do you know what I want? I want to go back and talk to those Vurkians, I want to find out where their ship is and crawl through the whole thing until I can make sure that they don’t have someone hidden somewhere that they’re going to sell on the slave market the moment they reach the Outer Rim. I want to go somewhere where I don’t have to hear or think about slavery anymore, but I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist and I can’t do anything about it.”

Obi-Wan’s breath came rapidly, his hood had fallen partly off and as always when he was close to panicking his every motion was tightly controlled except for the shaking that traveled through his limbs, his large eyes full of distress and anger. The streets were empty around them and Qui-Gon reached out, gently touching Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

“I will make sure that there isn’t anyone hidden on their ship,” he said softly and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“You can’t do anything about it either.” He stated flatly. He didn’t move, his head tilted downwards, his body shivering slightly. Qui-Gon waited, there if Obi-Wan needed to be held again but the younger man pulled back slightly, the corner of his mouth moving in a small tight motion, impossible to tell if it was a smile or a grimace.

“It’s pointless anyway. The Duros would have scanned the Vurkians ship before they were allowed to dock,” Obi-Wan sighed, biting his lip momentarily, “I apologize, my control is not…”

He shook his head again, unable to finish his sentence.

Qui-Gon frowned, letting his hands slide away from Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

“It is understandable,” he said quietly.

Obi-Wan stepped back, crossing his arms, concealing his still trembling hands.

“It is not the Jedi way,” he stated bluntly.

Surprisingly Obi-Wan did not look directly at Qui-Gon, but away from him, his profile shadowed slightly by the bright spaceport behind him. His blue jacket outlined the shape of his slim upper body, his hood fallen off enough that his face was fully visible. Qui-Gon stared at him and again felt that sensation of falling into nothingness. He had seen Obi-Wan in moments of vulnerability and rage, but never like this, where he seemed so near and yet so distant. The empty shipyard echoed with the faint sound of their breaths, the stars above them burned, a fire without warmth that reminded Qui-Gon of the iron of Obi-Wan’s voice when angered, the desperation the man fought to keep at bay every waking moment.

Abruptly, Obi-Wan turned, leading the way back to the hotel. Qui-Gon followed him in silence, aware that something had come and been held off, though it was not yet gone completely. They were halfway to the hotel when Obi-Wan spoke again.

“The Corellians were unexpectedly talkative.”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon responded, “I felt that they were comfortable with the situation occurring with the Duros, though I do not believe they are suspects.”

Obi-Wan frowned.

“It is possible they still may be, however, they would have concealed more in their conversation, were they the ones responsible. I sensed that they were not dishonest when speaking. They are merely interested in the opportunity the thefts present.”

“It would leave them in the right place to make a profit,” Qui-Gon agreed.

Obi-Wan nodded, ducking through the hotel lobby doors and striding towards the turbolift. Qui-Gon paused by his side.

“There aren’t any stairs,” he said, after looking around.

Obi-Wan turned towards him.

“Most buildings on Duro do not have them. We can take the lift.”

Qui-Gon glanced at the younger man,

“You are uncomfortable inside the lift.”

He was unsure if it was his mention of Obi-Wan’s fears or his acknowledgment that he had sensed such emotions earlier, but Obi-Wan’s mouth thinned, and he stepped determinedly into the lift, Qui-Gon following slowly.

“I am aware of my own weaknesses,” Obi-Wan said sternly, the moment the lift doors closed.

Qui-Gon frowned, turning to face him.

“I do not think you are weak,” he responded firmly.

Obi-Wan looked away, glancing back at him, his anger fading swiftly.

“Than what do you think?” he asked quietly.

Qui-Gon tilted his head, watching Obi-Wan’s light-colored eyes rise to meet his.

“I think,” he said quietly, “that it is a shame that Jedi are not allowed to wear civilian clothing more often.”

Obi-Wan blinked, frowning in open confusion.

Qui-Gon smiled slightly.

“That color suits you,” he remarked, glancing at Obi-Wan’s jacket, feeling a need to touch the muted blue sleeve, to return to that sense of closeness he had with the younger man, so large on the edge of knowing what it all meant.

Obi-Wan was still confused, the sensations that drifted faintly through the Force echoed through Qui-Gon’s mind and he was unaware for a moment which hidden emotion led to which person. There was something underneath what they were saying and feeling, something almost frightening in how much more it was than just their individual selves.

The lift doors opened to the floor their quarters were on, Qui-Gon stepping out and Obi-Wan following him. They walked down the blue-lit corridor, turning down the hall that led to where Obi-Wan’s quarters were. Qui-Gon stopped abruptly, Obi-Wan pausing next to him. Virmu stood in the hallway, near the door leading to her and Obi-Wan’s rooms.

She regarded them grimly, yellow eyes shifting towards Obi-Wan.

“I was not aware that you would be leaving this building, after I specifically told you I did not want you involved in the investigations.”

Instant frustration rose in Qui-Gon. He inhaled slowly, needing to remain calm, to separate his anger towards Virmu from the mission.

“I asked Obi-Wan to help me talk to the Corellians. It was because of him that we found the information we did,” he pointed out.

Virmu’s thin lips pursed, her wrinkled skin furrowing further as she glanced at Obi-Wan.

“Nevertheless, I expected my padawan to be obedient.”

“You never explicitly told me that I could not assist Master Jinn.” Obi-Wan remarked, and Qui-Gon felt slight surprise, though he wasn’t sure if it was over Obi-Wan’s forthrightness or being referred to so formally by the younger man.

Virmu gave a dismissive shrug.

“Regardless, the matter is done. We should discuss our information.”

Qui-Gon exchanged a look with Obi-Wan, unclear at how much the younger man wished to inform Virmu about their time outside the hotel, Obi-Wan tilted his head slightly before giving a short nod. Virmu turned, keying in the door’s access number with a clawed hand and stepping into her quarters, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon following her inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my sister yelled "pockets of fluff!" after reading this because of all the subtle obi/qui moments. :) 
> 
> Star Wars isn't really good at clarifying accents as belonging to a certain location. in the book 'rouge planet', a coruscant accent is clarified as most likely being british, but obviously there are variations, as both liam neeson and ewan mcgregor maintain their own accents slightly while playing obi-wan and qui-gon. corellian accents i've always assumed were like Han's, a sort of western American accent. i have no idea what the outer rim accents would be, but in my mind i pictured Obi-Wan going from his scottish/british accent to a eastern/mid-western american accent, but you guys can imagine what you will :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! i can't believe it is update time again. i'm sorry about having to switch to updating every two weeks as opposed to 10 days, i just wasn't able to get a chapter done in that amount of time before. i'm afraid i don't have any new chapter art from my sister, both of us were sick this weekend, :(. this chapter is from Obi-wan's pov and has a lot going on, so please comment and let me know what you think! :)

The dark walls of Virmu’s quarters were still lit with the soft blue tone that seemed standard lighting on Duro. The room’s curtains were pulled back, revealing the large rectangular windows that gleamed with the white shipyard lights below and the distant starlight of space. The only interior lights were the ones in the corners of the room, suffusing the area with a blue shadowy glow.

Obi-Wan tugged slightly at the hem of his faded blue jacket. He was not used to wearing civilian clothes, particularly in Virmu’s presence. He looked up briefly, at the shape of Virmu moving in front of them, the cool-toned light highlighting the lines on her face. He hoped that she had gathered more information than they had and that the situation could begin to be resolved instead of complicating further as it seemed to be doing.

He was having difficulty concealing his exhaustion and managing the tight control on his shields. Obi-Wan could still feel faint emotions and thoughts radiating from Qui-Gon, Virmu of course, was impossible to sense. Master Virmu had sat on one of the couches in the center of the large room and Qui-Gon sat on the other across from her. Obi-Wan chose to sit in a small chair between the two couches, leaning forward on his elbows and regarding Virmu who settled cross-legged on the couch, her clawed hands resting on her knees. Qui-Gon leaned forward as well, his long loose hair falling over his shoulders.

Obi-Wan glanced at him. He still could not adjust to seeing Qui-Gon in civilian clothing and wearing a color other than the neutral tones Jedi always wore. The burgundy colored shirt was unusual, exposing more of the man’s pale throat then Obi-Wan had seen before. Despite his strong build there was a slenderness to Qui-Gon’s limbs, his neck long and strangely delicate. The bruising that had been present on his face since their run-in with the Trevsin slavers had finally faded. Qui-Gon had rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows and the paleness of his lower arms, without the bandaging most Jedi wore, surprised Obi-Wan.

He envied Qui-Gon’s ability to be so relaxed; the man did not have to pretend to be someone else in order to be comfortable in a role that was not a Jedi. As it was, Obi-Wan felt cold even in his jacket, missing the overall warmth his Jedi cloak usually provided. Virmu had not chosen to heat their quarters any different from what the Duros preferred, which was significantly colder than what Obi-Wan was comfortable at. He inhaled slightly, centering his mind the best that he could, hands trembling slightly from exhaustion and the chill in the room.

“How long were you gone?” Virmu asked.

“An hour,” Qui-Gon answered smoothly.

Obi-Wan cut his eyes towards Virmu. Her winkled skin was furrowed further in thought, and she regarded Qui-Gon beadily.

“I do not believe that is adequate enough time to come to any conclusion.”

“If we had come to a conclusion about suspects I would not be sitting here discussing the matter,” Qui-Gon responded.

His voice was mild, but Obi-Wan was beginning to see how Qui-Gon could be his most irritated when deliberately calm. Obi-Wan could still sense concealed anger circulating through Qui-Gon; it had not left from their discussion the night previous and amplified every time Virmu was nearby. Obi-Wan frowned.

“The Sy Myrthians were pleased to have a visitor,” Virmu said, “and informative. I talked with them for several hours but heard nothing that would confirm them as suspects.”

“They can gain much if Duro continues to lose business,” Obi-Wan pointed out, his low voice clear in the quiet room.

Virmu shrugged.

“But not enough to risk it.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head forward, he could concede to Virmu on politics. She had an uncanny ability to gather very useful information under the guise of diplomacy. He resisted the urge to lean back in his chair, his body so tired that he knew if he relaxed he would be in danger of falling asleep.

“The Corellians are also eager to profit from the Duros misfortune, but I do not think they are responsible for the thefts,” Qui-Gon supplied.

The man looked wholly at ease in the shadowed room, his eyes a vivid dark blue as he met Virmu’s shrewd gaze. Virmu turned her head quickly, looking over at Obi-Wan sharply.

“And you, Padawan? You were so sure the Corellians were our suspects.”

Obi-Wan met her challenge quietly, his head ringing with the mess of his own shielding, his control still not strong enough to conceal his thoughts completely from Qui-Gon who turned to watch him now.

“I was never sure; I only thought they were the most probable. As it is, the group we talked to tonight seemed unlikely thieves, but I cannot say that other Corellians would not be responsible. I do not believe we should overlook entire groups until we gain more information.”

He knew his opinion did not align with Qui-Gon’s, but the older man nodded slightly,

“Your argument is valid,” he said reasonably, and Obi-Wan tilted his head to the side, studying Qui-Gon.

He was not used to being respected for having a differing viewpoint. It was alarming and empowering and too much to consider at the moment. He turned tiredly back to Virmu who had crossed her slender arms, her expression wary.

“What other information did you learn?” she asked.

Qui-Gon leaned forward, fingers interlocked as he studied the floor in thought.

“The Corellians were scornful towards Duro policies; some were quite prejudiced.”

“Bias can work in our favor,” Virmu pointed out.

Qui-Gon did not bother to answer, though he did look up at her and then over at Obi-Wan briefly. The blue light caught the silver in his hair and beard as he moved, his eyes resting only momentarily on Obi-Wan before flickering away. Obi-Wan understood the subtle look as an invitation to continue Qui-Gon’s thought, and he spoke:

“The Neimoidians were mentioned, but one of the Corellians leaned more heavily to blaming the Vurkians.”

“Vurkians?” Virmu repeated, her brow creased, she looked at Obi-Wan, “from the Outer Rim?”

Obi-Wan forced himself to continue looking into her golden eyes, to not shrink away from what she was asking underneath her confusion.

“Yes.”

“Why are they on Duro?” she demanded.

Obi-Wan shook his head, unsure of how to answer. He bit his lip briefly, trying not to think about the little he knew about Vurkians, their methods as slavers, the reminder that he was never entirely free from the past.

Qui-Gon shifted, catching Virmu’s attention,

“We did not learn of their presence until later on, do you believe them capable of the thefts?” he asked bluntly.

Virmu lifted a shoulder, glancing towards Obi-Wan.

“Obi-Wan knows more of them then I do.”

The words were not meant to wound but it was painful for Virmu to so casually allude to Obi-Wan’s knowledge of the inner workings of the slave system. After all this time, it was still easier for her to pretend that he only knew because of his extensive research and not because he had experienced it. Obi-Wan affected his own shrug, deliberately remaining calm even as his head pounded.

“They are ruthless and not prone to long-term planning, I do not believe they are here to steal ships, but again, I cannot dismiss them entirely as suspects.”

“So we have learned nothing,” Virmu snapped, “the Sy Myrthians are highly unlikely, as are the Corellians, both Vurkians and Neimoidians were mentioned but they are even less plausible. We need concrete information.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.

“We have been here barely more than a day, information will come.”

It was strange to see Qui-Gon suggesting patience to Virmu, though both looked unsettled, the air charged with their frustration: Virmu at the situation, Qui-Gon at Virmu.

Obi-Wan spoke quietly.

“It is possible that groups are working together.”

Qui-Gon nodded.

“The Sy Myrthians and the Vurkians perhaps,” the older man suggested.

“The Vurkians would not work well with the Sy Myrthians,” Virmu interjected.

Obi-Wan frowned, crossing his arms.

“We do not have enough evidence to support that they wouldn’t.”

“Would you be capable of gathering evidence without your emotions getting in the way?” Virmu challenged.

Qui-Gon opened his mouth but Obi-Wan lifted a hand. The room had grown very quiet, so quiet that he could hear the others breathing. Virmu met his gaze flatly and Obi-Wan’s stomach twisted with that old buried rage he had never quite been able to destroy towards her.

“What is it you are saying?” he asked.

She turned her head away but Obi-Wan leaned forward,

“I am tired of your evasions, if you wish to speak of something, then say it.”

He spoke clearly and with enough authority that she could not mistake not hearing him. Virmu turned back towards him, sliding from the couch to stand. She was offended, perhaps even angry at his nerve to challenge her where always before he had shied away from her references to his past. It was not any less painful then it had been but Obi-Wan was tired, he had given what he could to remain untouched by the past but it was impossible. He had endured her distrust and anger before, what difference would it make now?

“Can I depend on you to do your duty as a Jedi, or will you fall apart again?” she demanded coldly.

Out of the corner of his eye Obi-Wan saw Qui-Gon move to stand as well, but he shook his head, keeping his eyes on Virmu. They studied one another as if from a vast distance away. Obi-Wan looking up at the elderly alien, she staring down at him.

“It would be a lie to say I was not damaged from what has happened,” Obi-Wan said.

His voice was low and quiet. It carried nonetheless in the still room. He felt as if every nerve in his body was humming, his heart racing at speaking so openly about what they had barely touched on, she content to pretend he had forgotten. He angled his head to look up and meet her eyes better,

“But I am not broken,” he stated firmly.

“You did not answer my question,” Virmu snapped.

Obi-Wan leaned back in his chair, looking up at her still, unflinching in the face of her need to diminish what he was.

“Your question was whether I am capable,” Obi-Wan paused, a steeliness entering his voice, “I assure you, I am capable.”

He felt more than saw Qui-Gon’s gaze shift from Virmu to him. She stood still, watching him before abruptly turning away, sitting back down on the couch. The tension Obi-Wan had felt eased from him, though it did not fully leave. He was torn between the exhaustion and slow burning anger. His shields throbbed at trying to maintain so much emotion after being drained so many times. He could not entirely shut out Qui-Gon’s feelings, the man’s own thoughts a jumbled mix of anger and admiration. Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly, opening them as Virmu spoke as if nothing had occurred.

“We should speak more with Duro security, they may have other leads.”

“I have already spoken to them,” Qui-Gon said coldly.

The older man was not looking at Virmu and Obi-Wan tensed slightly, aware that another argument could break out, one outside of his control. It was painful enough moving around the edges of his past, he could not bear for Qui-Gon to speak of it to Virmu; she would never accept him telling Qui-Gon of what he was supposed to forget.

“Then we must speak with them again; perhaps I should,” Virmu stated.

Obi-Wan lifted a hand lightly, touching his temples. His head was pounding, his shields exhausted from the strain. He wanted powerfully to sleep. He inhaled slowly, losing track of the tense conversation between Virmu and Qui-Gon. The air felt thick, sharp with a smell he remembered…his mind reeling.

A hand closed over his forearm and Obi-Wan jerked his head up, twisting his hand loose automatically. The air was clouded with green vapor, Qui-Gon’s face shrouded in the strange steam.

“Gas,” Qui-Gon said urgently.

He tugged at Obi-Wan’s arm, his strength fully realized as he pulled Obi-Wan’s entire body up out of the chair effortlessly. Obi-Wan stumbled, dizzy. The room was filling rapidly with the green gas, billowing from the thin air vents in the ceiling. Qui-Gon’s hand slipped on his arm, fingers entwining with his own as the older man pulled them both towards the door. The room tilted at the edges, Obi-Wan’s vision tunneling, his lungs burning. He felt an incredible stillness settle in his body as his heart beat rapidly, his head whipping around to survey the clouded room.

“Virmu!” he called.

The world lurched around him but he operated now on instinct, twisting away from Qui-Gon and plunging further into the smoke. He heard Qui-Gon call his name but it did not feel like it belonged to him. He was a machine now, incapable of stopping. _I am not broken_ the words he had uttered minutes ago echoed in his mind and he staggered back towards the couch.

Loud beeping alarms had started as vapor filled the room completely, sudden water burst over him, the hotel’s fire prevention system useless against the smoke. Each breath seared and increased the dizziness but he focused only on finding Virmu, his hands fumbled at the place she had been, his eyes stinging as the gas darkened and water pelted him. Qui-Gon was there suddenly, lifting the slack shape of Virmu. Obi-Wan turned, confused momentarily. There had been no need for the other man to come back for him, he was strong enough to carry Virmu himself. But such thoughts were useless. He concentrated only on escape now.

They circled the area but it was impossible to find the way out with how murky the room was. Obi-Wan hissed, he put a hand to his temple, ignoring the mental pain as he tore at his own shields, lowering them enough to reach out fully to the Force with his raw strength. He felt Qui-Gon’s Force sense surge towards him, latching onto him and centering his turbulent power. The layout of the room became clear and he moved forward, knowing Qui-Gon would follow him, their minds linked close enough that there was no way they could not know where the other was.

Thoughts, emotions circled through him, a mix of Qui-Gon’s and his own, pushed aside by the overwhelming urge to find his way out. He reached the opposite wall, and rapidly palmed the access lock, mechanically inputting the code, using the Force to remember the arrangement of numbers that his fingers had to press. The door beeped, sliding open and they stumbled out into the hall, Obi-Wan rapidly sealing the door. He was soaking wet, his lungs burning but his thoughts were sharp and focused as he moved towards Qui-Gon who was gently lowering Virmu to the floor.

“Get a breath kit from the emergency unit.”

Obi-Wan gestured to the corridor wall, where emergency units were placed in most governmentally owned buildings in the Republic, he shoved Qui-Gon aside and turned Virmu over.

Her mouth and nose leaked with mahogany colored blood, Obi-Wan fumbling for a pulse, coughing. Running feet approached them, Duros moving around them, calling in Durese. Obi-Wan barely heard them, just hoped that Qui-Gon could find medical supplies quickly. In seconds the man had returned, dropping to his knees besides them. Obi-Wan ripped open the breath kit, his shaking hands setting the mask over Virmu’s mouth and nose and moving to compress her chest.

“Hold the mask steady,” he snapped and Qui-Gon did so, his large hand almost engulfing the mask as he tilted Virmu’s head back to allow more air to circulate in her lungs.

“The gas wasn’t toxic,” Qui-Gon said, but Obi-Wan shook his head, water dripping from him.

“She’s Grelian, they can’t inhale most fumes.”

A Durosian leaned down near them, reaching for Virmu’s pulse.

“Duro medical,” she stated, “keep compressing.”

Obi-Wan nodded, timing the compresses to what Virmu’s heartbeat would be. It seemed impossible that minutes ago they were arguing, that Virmu could have such control, she felt limp and brittle beneath his hands now. Obi-Wan frowned, coughing but not stopping and Qui-Gon stood from his side as more medical team members pushed forward,

“We’ve got a heartbeat!” someone called in accented Basic.

Obi-Wan felt his hands shoved away, he sat back on his heels. He was shivering but pushed aside the blanket someone was trying to give him.

“Qui-Gon,” he rasped out, his voice trembling with exhaustion.

The older man moved towards him from where he had been talking to an upset Durosian, the hotel manager; Obi-Wan recalled the face numbly. Large hands gently grasped his upper arms, helping him up. Qui-Gon was as wet as him, his hair dripping and tangled down past his shoulders, his lightweight shirt sticking to his skin.

“They’re going to take her to Duro Medcenter,” he said, and Obi-Wan nodded.

He felt ill almost but there was no time for that. He could still feel Qui-Gon’s mind connected to his own and he was too tired to do anything about it. He straightened.

“We should go as well.”

Qui-Gon glanced back towards the sealed room, his gaze lingering on the Duros who were crowded around Virmu.

“They’ve begun air circulation to clear the area. I’m not sure what type of gas it was but we should be examined in case there were any hidden toxins.”

Obi-Wan grimaced, but agreed silently. Dry clothing was not of importance, he only made sure that his lightsaber was still secure in his coat pocket before following the Duros who had loaded Virmu on a floating stretcher. The trip to the Medcenter was a blur, Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon close to his side, the larger man speaking quietly into his comlink. He closed it off as the speeder slowed.

“Baniss-Ena is meeting with us at the Medcenter, Duro security has closed off the entire floor of the hotel.”

Obi-Wan nodded,

“We should investigate, before they clear off evidence,” he said quietly as they exited the speeder.

Qui-Gon frowned.

“I’ve suggested the same thing, but it might be hours before we can get back there. Is Virmu alright?”

Obi-Wan shook his head at the question,

“I don’t know. I’m not sure how much gas she inhaled.”

They were guided into a white round room completely empty of anything but bright circular lights embedded into the ceiling. For a moment they stood there with the stretcher and medical team, before the floor suddenly rotated and sank down to a lower level. It opened now into a long gleaming hallway, where Virmu was rushed away, one of the Duros staying behind to lead them to another room where a Durosian medic ran a quick scan over both of them, declaring them free of toxins. From there they waited in the long white hallway. Obi-Wan crossed his arms, his wet clothes dripping on the floor as he tried to recall their conversation earlier.

“Virmu was arguing with you when the gas first started.”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon said quietly, “she collapsed suddenly and I realized that vapor was seeping in from the ceiling, I went for her but she waved me towards you first. I had no idea the gas would fill the room so quickly, it was much faster than other gasses I’ve seen.”

His brow creased and he pushed aside a wet lock of hair.

“I’ve never seen vapor that color either. Perhaps part of it was _Chrinsophousi_ , that would explain its rapidness, but not it’s metallic scent.”

Obi-Wan frowned. There was something about the gas…the very faint scent it had…

“I’ve smelled it earlier, in the shipyard.”

Qui-Gon turned towards him.

“Today?” he asked, and Obi-Wan nodded.

Qui-Gon looked away, the man lapsing into deep thought. Obi-Wan’s shields were still low enough that he could feel Qui-Gon’s mind humming, turning over different possibilities, considering options.

“Someone did try to harm us, or in particular Virmu, if they knew she was susceptible,” Qui-Gon said quietly.

Obi-Wan stared up at the tall man, noticing the slight lines on the man’s face, more pronounced now as Qui-Gon looked down the hall, thinking hard.

“Perhaps one of the groups we were investigating tonight?” Obi-Wan suggested, and Qui-Gon looked over at him, his brow still knit.

They regarded each other quietly. The Force flowed between them, hindered only by the weak half-shields Obi-Wan still had. He was too tired to raise them completely, exhaustion blurring out everything but finding out what had happened.

“There is a mathematical theory,” Qui-Gon murmured, “that states if the answer does not align with the question then you must return to the source.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed in thought, he looked down at the pale floor, the few Duros who moved by, clad in dark blue medical uniforms. He considered the statement, their investigation earlier that day, everything that had happened since they had landed.

“The Duros,” he said softly, and Qui-Gon nodded.

Obi-Wan looked over at him, oblivious to the water seeping from both of their wet clothes, pooling on the floor.

“But what could they gain from stealing their own ships?” he asked, and Qui-Gon shook his head, offering a small smile, his Force sense churning with worry and speculation.

“It is only a feeling. Virmu would not consider it plausible.”

Obi-Wan glanced down the long hall where Virmu had been taken. He tried to imagine the Duros as being responsible and the idea was absurd. To the Duros, business was everything, and as starship building was there only business it didn’t make sense to steal what they already owned. But Qui-Gon was wondering now and Obi-Wan could feel his own doubt rise, he looked back at Qui-Gon.

“Then let us consider it.”

Qui-Gon met his eyes for a few minutes before nodding again. A noise became behind them and they both turned. Baniss-Ena strode towards them, frowning, their white jacket creased slightly as if the officer had been sleeping in it. They stopped, giving a startled glance towards Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon’s wet civilian clothes but then stepped forward.

“Master Jinn, Jedi Kenobi, I apologize deeply for what has happened. We have never had an assassination attempt before. I should have stationed guards at the hotel.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

“It is being confirmed an assassination?” he inquired, and Baniss-Ena sighed tiredly.

“I’m afraid so, I understand Master Virmu is injured.”

Obi-Wan frowned.

“Her species are vulnerable to certain chemicals. However the gas did not appear to be toxic.”

Baniss-Ena shook their head, their aqua skin gleaming in the white lights of the room.

“Nevertheless it was an intent to do you harm and would have left you unconscious for hours; who knows what would have happened then?”

Qui-Gon shifted from where he had been leaning against the wall.

“We are concerned about this turn of events,” he said quietly,

Baniss-Ena nodded, up close the Durosian looked weary; Obi-Wan doubted the security officer had slept much since the thefts had begun.

“We’ve blocked off the area and the hotel residents are being questioned, but I’m not sure we can catch the culprit, the gas could have been triggered to release at anytime, and the suspect could be far away by now.”

Qui-Gon glanced over at Obi-Wan.

“It is possible the culprit may not be connected to the thefts, but for now I feel we should assume finding one will lead to the other.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head in agreement and turned to speak to Baniss-Ena when a Durosian in a dark blue uniform approached them,

“Master Jedi,” he addressed both of them, “the other Jedi is resting well now. She is in a healing trance but she should make a full recovery.”

Obi-Wan exhaled, feeling weak with tiredness and relief. Despite his dislike towards Virmu, he would not know what to do if the damage had been severe. Qui-Gon and him extended hands in a gesture of thanks, the Durosian mimicking the motion. When the medic left, Baniss-Ena turned towards them.

“I understand you met with other suspects today, were there any leads?”

Qui-Gon shook his head.

“None that we could confirm. We were discussing the matter when the attack happened.”

Baniss-Ena nodded, rubbing a long fingered hand over their bare skull tiredly.

“And now you’re a target to someone. This damn investigation is getting more and more complicated!”

They exhaled in frustration before crossing their arms.

“I’m afraid we can’t get the vapor cleared out completely for a few more hours, you’ll have to take different lodgings. I’d recommend it anyway. Whoever the culprit is, they knew where you were staying, it’s best not to go back to the hotel right now.”

Qui-Gon nodded, his wet hair swinging forward, dripping water on the floor.

“Our presence here is known by many Duros, changing our lodgings may not make a difference.”

Obi-Wan watched the two talk quietly, his brow furrowed slightly. There was something he was missing, something more than just the investigation. He pushed a hand through the wet spikes of his hair, thinking.

“Baniss-Ena?” he asked quietly.

The androgynous Durosian looked over at him, and Obi-Wan continued,

“How are the Trevsins?” he asked.

Baniss-Ena blinked in confusion.

“The slavers?” they shook their head, “Quiet, mostly. We’ve talked to a few but haven’t learned much beyond the information Master Virmu gave us. We believe that they’ve chosen a new leader in the group, now that their first is dead. He goes by the name Teltrin. He won’t talk to us, and since the group is isolated from each other, they can’t plan much.”

Baniss-Ena tilted their head.

“You don’t think they could be behind the assassination?”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, glancing towards Qui-Gon who was watching him thoughtfully, “I don’t.”

Baniss-Ena sighed wearily, pulling out their comlink that had started beeping, “Like I said, I’ve begun questioning the hotel staff, but it will take some time.”

“That is understandable; we can confer more in the morning.” Qui-Gon said and Baniss-Ena nodded, gesturing with palms up, the security officer left quickly, already speaking in rapid Durese on their comlink, no doubt returning to the never ending investigation.

“Do you suspect them?” Obi-Wan asked, glancing after Baniss-Ena.

Qui-Gon shook his head.

“I do not believe Baniss-Ena is responsible for what is occurring, they are a good officer and are much too invested in the case to be thwarting it. It doesn’t make sense that the Duros would be behind this.”

Obi-Wan frowned,

“But you think it’s a possibility.”

Qui-Gon sighed slightly before offering a small worn smile.

“Almost anything is a possibility.”

Obi-Wan dipped his head in a nod, brushing water droplets off his face. Qui-Gon stepped forward.

“We should find other lodgings, there’s nothing we can do for Virmu here.”

Obi-Wan glanced down the hallway but agreed. They left without speaking further.

The hotel they found was much simpler and smaller. Obi-Wan stepped into the quarters offered to them, glancing around the walls which were painted a dull off-white. The windows looked out at the city and only showed glimpses of the shipyards. The rooms were plain, but clean. The main area contained a small couch, a computer system that was rather old and a low table with three chairs. The tiny room led into an even smaller one which had a bed and a dresser in it. A bathroom was linked between the two rooms. Obi-Wan surveyed the rooms carefully before stopping in the main area.

“We need to discuss the Duros,” he said tiredly, pulling his boots off and setting them near the door to dry.

Qui-Gon stepped into the room behind him, water from his hair and beard sliding down his already wet neck.

“Later,” he said quietly.

Obi-Wan glanced up at him, frowning.

“It’s important that we find a solution to this as soon as –”

Qui-Gon cut him off with a slight wave of his hand.

“Important, yes, but it’s no use if we’re too exhausted to do anything. We both need sleep, you more than me, I think, and to change into dry clothing.”

Obi-Wan wanted to protest but knew there was no way of hiding his weariness. Their minds were still humming, almost in sync now. He felt almost ill with how tired he was. He conceded with a small frown and nod, and Qui-Gon pulled his comlink out.

“I need to inform the council of what has happened. You can sleep while I take the first watch.”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms, thinking. It was apparent that they would not be able to fully relax until they knew who was responsible for the attack on Virmu’s quarters. He strode over to the wall, accessing the hotel computer. Most everything was locked down, but he was able to bypass the security quickly, cycling through the blue screens before touching the information network. He heard Qui-Gon come up behind him, watching as Obi-Wan pulled open the wall panel and began to rewire the computer setup. The hotel computer was surprisingly easy to link to other hotel networks and in seconds he had it hooked up to The Builder’s Hotel computer, the two linked so that he could sync information over. He typed in the security feed for the day.

“It will take hours to find some correlation between the attack and what happened in other parts of the hotel with this many security feeds,” Qui-Gon remarked calmly as if Obi-Wan had not just done something highly unethical.

Obi-Wan glanced at him.

“As far as we know, our room was the only one attacked; the suspect knew enough that they must have breached the room in some way.”

He turned.

“Is there anyway you can have the computer search the files instead of us doing it manually?”

Qui-Gon looked at the computer.

“Yes, I could rewire the computer’s search system and set a timer that will alert us when it makes a connection between different security feeds, but it will take time and require further hacking into Duro government property.”

“Do it,” Obi-Wan said, turning and heading towards the bathroom. He paused at the door, looking back at Qui-Gon who was kneeling down and inspecting the wiring in the wall panel.

“Wake me when you find the link,” Obi-Wan instructed.

Qui-Gon nodded absently but he was already typing rapidly into the computer’s cycling blue holoscreen. Obi-Wan watched him for a moment, allowing the ghost of a smile before he disappeared.

In the bathroom he stripped out of his wet clothes, peeling his cream-colored undershirt off from his upper body. The bathroom was supplied with a standard clothes cycle unit that would wash and dry his clothing in minutes. Obi-Wan dumped his wet clothes in the unit and stepped into the shower. His own body felt weighted down with exhaustion, a pressure tight against his ribs as he considered how close they had come to being knocked unconscious by the gas, how easy it would have been to once again be under someone else’s control.

Obi-Wan leaned his head back, letting the warm water rush against his face and chest, his hands flexing at his sides. The computer hacking Qui-Gon was doing was not remotely legal and could very well turn up nothing. He needed to find answers to what was happening before another one of them was attacked. The longer they waited, the more dangerous it became. If the thefts and the attack on them were linked, then it was no longer just about the stealing of property. Virmu was injured and hospitalized now, what would he do if it was Qui-Gon next, or himself? Whoever had meant to harm them could not afford to stop now. The only solution was catching the suspect before it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone looking forward to what chapter 11 will bring? i am! 
> 
> i have to say i love writing the Jedi team that Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon are, i especially love how Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan each take the lead at different times. they're equals working together and trying to find a solution to a difficult situation. also they are cute together, aren't they? :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! here's the next update! i'm afraid i don't have any new artwork up yet for previous chapters, but my sister did just finish some and so i should have it up wednesday, so stay alert for chapter 5 and 6 artwork on that day. chapter 5 artwork will blow your mind, its incredible. :)  
> on a side note my dad today was mentioning word count and he was like "can you imagine writing 30,000 words?" keep in mind he has no idea that i write fanfiction so i was just like "yeah..." but meanwhile i wrote at least 10,000 words this weekend, haha.  
> i'm terribly sorry about this but i might have to hold off the next update for three weeks, ugh, i hate doing that and i'm going to try my hardest to get the next chapter up in two weeks, but i have three papers in my classes that i have to write, so i'll see what i can do. :)  
> Qui-Gon's pov for this chapter, please comment and let me know what you think of the chapter!
> 
> hi guys, i just wanted to say i did get the artwork up so you can go back and check ch. 5 and ch. 6 out or you can go to my tumblr, infinitejedilove@tumblr.com and see it there :)

When it came to repairing or rewiring mechanical objects, Qui-Gon did not have the talent Obi-Wan had for it. Hacking, however, was not difficult for Qui-Gon as it merely required the ability to examine information from multiple viewpoints. As a padawan mathematics and puzzles had fascinated him. When he had been given basic instruction on coding it had naturally become his next area of interest; it was inevitable that he would discover hacking quite soon after.

The security around Duro government property was not as advanced as he had assumed. Though Qui-Gon doubted he would have been able to hack into shipyard records or docking bay registers, getting inside The Builder’s Hotel computer was not difficult. The only problem was arranging the computer at their quarters to respond and copy information at the same time as The Builder’s Hotel computers, which were much more advanced than the system their new lodgings provided.

Qui-Gon wondered if Obi-Wan knew a faster way, as the younger man’s hacking abilities were different than his own, more intense and driven by a need for information that surpassed simple curiosity. However, he was reluctant to bother the younger Jedi. The shower had stopped running a few minutes earlier and Qui-Gon had heard the door to the one bedroom close. Obi-Wan needed sleep, that was very clear, the younger man’s weariness was a weight that he felt clearly through the Force.

The hum of Obi-Wan’s mind against his own was different than anything Qui-Gon had ever known before. Even faintly shielded, Obi-Wan’s presence was always exhilarating to feel through the Living Force, but Qui-Gon refrained from reaching out mentally. The younger man was exhausted. There could be no other reason that his shields were lowered so far. It would not be right of Qui-Gon to touch the man’s mind when Obi-Wan had not expressively invited him to do so.

With other Jedi, the interaction was instinctive, but Obi-Wan was different and Qui-Gon respected the man’s privacy. He doubted that he would be able to adapt as quickly to the full amount of Obi-Wan’s unshielded mind anyway. Obi-Wan’s Force presence was filled with strength, but the power was raw, untamed, and without shields there was a sense of complete oblivion to his mind. It was something that would cause other Jedi to avoid mental contact and the reason perhaps why Obi-Wan was so convinced his mind was dangerous to others.

There were risks, Qui-Gon could acknowledge that, but he did not believe Obi-Wan would harm him, not unless the man intended to. He wondered if the barely controlled power of Obi-wan’s mind was caused by his enslavement or the Council’s attempt to destroy parts of the young man’s memory. The thought filled him with a bitter anger and he found it difficult not to contact the Council and demand answers for why nine years ago they had subjected a traumatized child to further psychological abuse. He pushed his wet hair aside, staring down at the computer without seeing it. The Council would of course deny that their actions were wrong, they would speak of the potential threat of the dark side and forget that Obi-wan had had no choice.

Qui-gon exhaled lightly, aware of Obi-Wan’s presence in the other room, quiet and uncompromising. He felt drawn to the younger man in a way he could not explain. He deeply valued Obi-Wan’s tentative trust in him, as well as the awareness of new aspects of Obi-Wan’s character, but above all he admired Obi-Wan’s mysteriousness and did not feel a need to know everything about the younger man. He could appreciate the unknown for remaining unknown.

Something changed in the Force, a sudden stillness settling against his mind; he frowned before registering that it was Obi-Wan that the sensation was coming from. Qui-Gon examined the sensation. _Sleeping_ , he thought with amazement. He had never felt another Jedi strong enough that even in sleep their minds were still connected in some way.

The computer beeped quietly and Qui-Gon returned to his task, cycling thorough the glowing blue readouts until finally he found The Builder’s Hotel original source code. He surveyed it for the usual alarm systems before plugging the code into the computer at their new quarters. It blinked off for a moment and he remained still, watching the blank screen. Hacking was a crime that didn’t seem to occur on Duro and though he could escape conviction by his Jedi status, having to deal with the authorities if he was caught would severely limit the amount of time he had to investigate the thefts. Besides, he doubted Baniss-Ena would appreciate arresting him.

The computer blinked on suddenly and Qui-Gon leaned closer, he tapped on the main terminal, smiling as he exited the code readout and entered The Builder’s Hotel network. He was inside their computers with full access to their security feeds. So now it was a matter of examining information.

The security feeds covered the entire hotel. In an effort to save time, Qui-Gon eliminated the floors that weren’t the ground floor, the floor Virmu’s room had been on and the floor above and below it. He typed in the day’s code and set the system to notify him if it noticed anyone in Virmu’s room.

Almost immediately it beeped and Qui-Gon watched the security feed of Obi-Wan moving through the semi-dark room. He noted the time and realized that it was only a few minutes after Obi-Wan had left from talking to him the night before. It was too dark to see Obi-Wan’s face but he watched the man’s silhouette walking around the room. Obi-Wan paused at the windows, pulling back a curtain slightly, the shipyard lights showing enough that it caught his features. He looked tired and shaken. Qui-Gon bit his lip, recalling how much it had cost Obi-Wan to speak of his past. He felt suddenly unbearably sad, watching Obi-Wan stand there, a shape alone in the large room.

He quickly moved past the image by speeding up the security feed. He raised his eyebrows as the rapid images still showed Obi-Wan in the main room. The younger Jedi had meditated the rest of the night instead of sleeping and Qui-Gon felt further concern, wondering how long it had been since Obi-Wan had slept. Even now, with their minds connected he could sense Obi-Wan on the edge of awareness, unable to sink into a deep sleep, mind and body still alert for any possible danger.

Qui-Gon slowed the security feed as Virmu came through the room, he watched her talk to Obi-Wan who rose from the floor and gathered his cloak. The two Jedi left their quarters without eating. Qui-Gon switched to other security feeds, watching the images of Obi-Wan and Virmu enter the lift and then cross the lobby and exit out into the shipyard. From there he lost any visual on them. He opened up every security feed available, fifty-seven in all and let the computer cycle through them.

It would take time, even for a machine. Qui-Gon stood, his muscles stiff from crouching down near the computer. He felt a slight shiver in the Force, a thought perhaps from Obi-Wan, but it faded into that odd stillness and he shook his head, considering it a fragment of a dream. Qui-Gon had sensed other Jedi before, but never so closely, never with a hidden layer to their thoughts and minds. He wished suddenly that Obi-Wan were awake, just so he could look the man in the eye and speak to him.

His clothes had dried only enough that he was no longer trailing water and Qui-Gon gave up waiting for them to dry completely. He went and showered, setting his clothes to wash and dry in the clothes unit. The shower was somewhat small for his tall build, but the water was warm, comforting.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes momentarily, thinking over the day. It had ended so differently than it had started; he had barely slept the night previous after Obi-wan had told him of his enslavement. He had spent the day torn between concern for the younger man and unJedi-like anger at Virmu and the Council. He had followed leads that had gone nowhere and only gathered more suspects. The gas attack had been the most alarming event, as it was the first direct attack against them. Soapy water trailed down Qui-Gon’s arms and shoulders as he quickly washed his hair. The attack against them implied maliciousness, but the intent hadn’t been to kill. Perhaps it was only a warning to stay away. Regardless, they needed to find the suspect quickly before further injuries occurred.

The tiles along one side of the shower had a mirrored quality, Qui-Gon glimpsing parts of his reflection on the steamed wall. His lean muscular body looked very similar to how it had in his thirties; the life of a Jedi kept him fit, his age only ascertainable from the silver in his hair and the few lines on his face. He turned the shower off, wringing water from his hair before stepping out and drying off.

He paused for a moment, listening for the computer but it appeared to still be cycling through information. Qui-Gon dressed in his now clean dry clothes and returned to the main room. He did not sleep but sat on the couch, allowing his eyes to close, distancing his mind and sinking into meditation.

He considered again the last few days, searching for answers to the mission, trying to figure out where all the pieces went. There were suggested suspects but no evidence so far, they were left with only possibilities and no true answers. Virmu was injured. The mission had an edge of desperation to it now; a need to resolve the threat to them and the Duros before it escalated.

Obi-wan was concerned as well, Qui-Gon could feel it faintly in the man’s mind. The younger Jedi had asked Baniss-Ena about the Trevsins. Qui-gon could not see what the correlation between the slavers and the situation at hand was, but it worried him. Obi-Wan had dismissed the matter almost as soon as he asked about it, but the younger man was not the type to speak without thinking.

The Trevsins had still not been questioned, the Duro mission taking precedence. It was frustrating, still not knowing why the Trevsins had attacked their ship in the first place, whether it was simply an isolated raid, or whether they had been looking for escaped slaves. Qui-Gon’s thin lips tightened slightly as he frowned. He would interrogate the slavers again as soon as the culprit behind the Duro starship thefts was caught. He did not care if it went against Duro imprisonment customs, he needed to resolve the issue, if only for Obi-Wan’s sake.

It was very foreign to him, to meditate and still feel Obi-Wan on the edges of his mind, the man’s blurred thoughts and emotion were a comfort and at the same time a challenge to his own. He felt again that sensation of leaping into darkness, unknowing of what he would find. Qui-Gon inhaled slowly, attempting to focus his mind but he could not shut out the subtle hum of Obi-Wan’s Force presence, asleep in the other room. He did not want to.

Qui-Gon bit his lip again. He was drawn to Obi-Wan, he could not deny it. He had never felt another’s mind like this, never this powerfully with this amount of intimacy and vulnerability. But he did not understand why Obi-Wan felt essential to him, or what exactly his connection was to the younger man.

He felt Obi-Wan deserved a better master but he did not want to be the man’s teacher. He knew that Obi-Wan respected him but there was no hero worship about the interaction. They were equals, an evenly matched team. In many ways they were nothing alike and yet in other ways they were surprisingly similar. They each felt protective over one another, perhaps more than Jedi should.

Qui-Gon was very aware of Obi-Wan and aware of details that did not matter, the way Obi-Wan tilted his head, his determined walk, the cold power of him when angered and the way his breath stuttered from him when he was afraid. When he touched Obi-Wan on the shoulder it felt natural, when their minds connected it felt like light spreading through every part of him. All of these things were not necessary to recall in minute detail but he did.

He wanted to be by Obi-Wan’s side, but why? He circled the question but could not understand if there was an answer. Another recollection entered his mind, remembering when he had held Obi-Wan after the man had told him of his past, the feel of Obi-Wan’s breath on his neck, the supple weight of the man in his arms. Qui-Gon’s eyes moved beneath closed lids, he was holding his breath, waiting for the moment to become clearer and explain what it was that made it so difficult for him to not be there for Obi-Wan.

A noise startled him and Qui-Gon instantly opened his eyes, half-rising, hand already reaching for his lightsaber when he realized it was the computer alerting him. He strode to the hovering screen, which had locked on two separate security feeds. He tapped the screen and watched only a second before pausing. He stared at the computer, his mind racing, considering the possibilities. He turned automatically.

“Obi-Wan, the computer,’ he called, unsure of what else to say.

Obi-Wan’s mind shifted from tentative sleep to complete awareness in a half second, Qui-Gon already hearing his feet on the floor. For a moment Qui-Gon felt further disorientated before sudden shields rose, blocking the majority of Obi-Wan’s mind, but not all of it and Qui-Gon turned as the door to the main room opened and Obi-Wan stepped into the room, his Force sense sharp with determination.

The younger man was barefoot. He wore only his brown pants from earlier and a cream undershirt that hung loosely on his thin build, his brown-red hair stuck up in odd tufts from sleeping on it, but his gaze was alert, shrewd as he met Qui-Gon’s eyes.

“What did you find?’ Obi-Wan asked, already striding toward the computer.

Qui-Gon blinked, unprepared suddenly at seeing Obi-Wan in such a different way, the man’s bare arms were more slender then muscular, though there was a strength to the planes of his body, an inability to quit if challenged to a fight. The geometric tattoo that covered most of his right shoulder and upper arm was vivid against his pale skin. The lights from the shipyards outside highlighted faint scars on Obi-wan’s forearms and hands, as if the wounds had healed before bacta had been able to be applied.

Abruptly, Qui-Gon focused on the computer, surprised at how distracted he had become. He typed in the security feed information, cycling backwards, gesturing for Obi-Wan to watch. The younger Jedi came to stand near him, arms crossed, studying the screen intently. They watched the feed play through, Obi-Wan reaching out and tapping it to slow down certain parts. Silently they watched as the surveillance monitor outside of Obi-Wan and Virmu’s room showed a Durosian pausing outside the door, before moving on. Obi-Wan froze the screen but the quality was too low to make out any of the Durosian’s features.

“There’s another part here,” Qui-Gon murmured, reaching out to tap the screen and bring up the feed from inside the room.

It was barely a few seconds, but enough to see that a Durosian had entered the room, the Durosian’s face was turned away and they appeared to be talking into a comlink. Obi-Wan paused the screen again, studying the two images.

“Male,” he said after awhile, “average height, and weight, nondescript clothing, aqua skin tone.”

He sighed.

“This could be anyone.”

“But it would have to be someone who knew which rooms we were staying in,” Qui-Gon pointed out.

Obi-Wan frowned but nodded. Qui-Gon looked over at him as the young man bent his head, thinking. The thin undershirt Obi-Wan wore exposed his pale neck and collarbones fully. This close to the man, Qui-Gon could see sparse freckles scattered across the base of Obi-Wan’s throat and along the outside of his shoulders and upper arms. One of the younger man’s collarbones was offset slightly and Qui-Gon recalled Obi-Wan mentioning that it had been broken early on in his enslavement. Qui-Gon looked away, wondering if Obi-Wan had gone without medical treatment until his return to the Temple, if so, it explained the somewhat crooked heal.

“Do you have the security feeds for the ceiling?” Obi-Wan asked,

Qui-Gon frowned.

“I doubt that the Duros keep surveillance of their ventilation systems, but I can check.”

Obi-Wan nodded absently. He tapped the screen again, opening another link and searching. Qui-Gon waited until Obi-Wan centered on one.

“Here,” he said, his scarred fingers moved rapidly across the screen, pulling all feeds up at once.

They watched the two previous screens play out. The third showed nothing but various vent works. Qui-Gon glanced over at Obi-Wan who was staring intently at the screen, stopping the cycling information and pulling the screen back further, slowing the relay down. They stared at nothing for a long moment before Qui-Gon noticed something; he stopped the screen, hand hovering over images.

“There,” he announced, enlarging the image.

At the edge of a panel, a vent had been unhooked, a hand was reaching in with a small canister. It was clearly the long slender hand of a Durosian. Qui-Gon enlarged the image further, glimpsing something on the sleeve of the Durosian’s shirt. The image was difficult to sharpen, but it became clear that the object wasn’t on the Duriosian sleeve, but fastened to the wrist, some sort of bracelet perhaps…

”What time did this happen?” Obi-Wan asked, and Qui-Gon pulled up the times for each security feed.

“They’re all a few minutes from each other.”

“So timing checks out,” Obi-Wan murmured.

He tapped the screen and circled back through the information.

The unidentified Durosian in the room was clearly wearing the same bracelet, but that didn’t help them identify the suspect, besides the fact that he was male and most likely not working alone, as he had been on his comlink at the time.

“You were talking to Banniss-Ena during this time,” Obi-Wan stated.

“Yes, and you and Virmu would have been in the shipyard,” Qui-Gon supplied.

Obi-Wan nodded. He crossed his arms, the tattoo along his right arm catching the light, the ink was so dark and clean that it was hard to believe that Obi-wan had had the tattoo for nearly ten years already. Qui-gon frowned, wondering why the Council hadn’t removed the tattoo when they had attempted to wipe Obi-Wan’s memories of the Sh’kil.

“When did you come back?” Obi-Wan asked, and Qui-Gon considered the matter.

“Only a little while before you.”

“Can you look through that feed?’ Obi-Wan asked.

Qui-Gon nodded, setting the computer up to run through the main lobby security record of the day.

“It’s possible that the suspect might have a personal vendetta against Jedi, or perhaps Virmu, seeing how she was injured,” he suggested.

Obi-Wan stepped back and disappeared into the bathroom, responding to Qui-gon’s statement from the other room.

“Perhaps. Virmu has been here before and she may have angered someone during an earlier mission. However, it’s unlikely. The Duros aren’t overly sensitive and Virmu is skilled in diplomacy. It is difficult to find a motive for why a Durosian would be the culprit, they have always gotten along well with Jedi.”

Obi-wan returned to the main room, wearing a long-sleeved light brown shirt that fit his frame. He pulled his blue jacket on over it.

“However, there are always exceptions to the rules,” he said.

“And the stolen ships?” Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed but he shook his head.

“We can’t allow our focus to be drawn in too many directions right now.”

The computer beeped suddenly and they both turned towards the screen to watch the feed of Qui-Gon entering the hotel lobby the day previous, Levet DeBrek by his side. The two stopped at the corner of the lobby, talking. Qui-Gon surveyed the lobby area around their speaking images but there was nothing indicative of anything suspicious.

“Freeze that image,” Obi-Wan instructed, and Qui-Gon tapped on the screen.

He watched as Obi-Wan pulled the screen over and began to cycle through the feed, ending up on an enlarged picture of Qui-Gon and Levet. The Durosian officer was gesturing in the frozen segment, discussing ancient planting seasons, Qui-Gon recalled, remembering the officer’s love of botany. Qui-Gon frowned, he leaned over, pushing his damp hair aside and touching the screen to increase the size of the picture further. Obi-Wan reached out, gripping his wrist. They both stood there, looking at the enlarged image of Levet. It was blurred, but there was no mistaking the glimpse of bright color at the end of the officer’s sleeve, visible as his hand was raised in mid-discussion.

“Levet,” Qui-Gon declared softly.

Obi-Wan nodded. His fingers were very cold against Qui-Gon’s wrist, his expression neutral. Qui-Gon looked over at him.

“You suspected him,” he said.

Obi-Wan shrugged. He released Qui-Gon and stepped back.

“I suspect everyone,” he said calmly, “I thought at first it might be the hotel manager, but Levet gave himself away. He must have placed the gas canister before he went to transport you back, a simple timing device would have prevented it from going off until he wanted.”

Qui-Gon frowned.

“The bracelet…that was the timing device. He set it so the canister would go off when we were all in the same room.”

Obi-Wan nodded. The younger man looked unusual in his civilian clothing, still barefoot. He must have been cold during the night, Qui-Gon thought, still feeling the chill from where Obi-Wan’s icy fingers had grasped his wrist. However, it was clear Obi-Wan was concerned with other matters, the man staring at the computer grimly.

“We need to question him as soon as possible.”

“I doubt he’d tell us anything unless we know his motive and can use that as leverage against him,” Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan looked up at him.

“You mentioned he was interested in botany?”

Qui-Gon frowned.

“Yes.”

Obi-Wan nodded, standing and returning to the computer. He began rapidly typing, Qui-Gon moving closer to the screen.

“What are you doing?” he asked as the security feeds disappeared and a white screen appeared floating above the computer.

Obi-wan cycled through it, pressing on images and typing in further data.

“Getting into the Duro security officers accounts.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.

“Is that legal?” he asked.

Obi-Wan looked up at him flatly before returning to his work and Qui-Gon took the gesture for a no. In seconds the officers accounts came up, Obi-Wan pushing aside the other names and tapping on Levet’s. The account was short and simple, Qui-Gon surveyed the information but could find no link between Levet’s background and the attack. He glanced at Obi-Wan who had hesitated only briefly before tapping on the account and typing in a new stream of information.

Instantly a new record list appeared. Obi-Wan touched it, pulling open a blank screen and typing out numbers. Qui-Gon recognized the record list as a banking statement, but refrained from saying anything. Hacking into a person’s financial accounts was a definite criminal act, but Obi-Wan did not appear interested in how much money Levet had. Instead he was working out equations regarding a list of numbers. Qui-Gon glanced over at the list, recognizing the math formula Obi-Wan was using,

“45,467,” he said quietly, and Obi-Wan blinked, seeming surprised despite himself.

“You have a talent for mathematics,” he stated, looking up at Qui-Gon.

“It interests me,” Qui-Gon responded, smiling faintly.

The younger man nodded and almost smiled before he bent his head, returning to his work.

“So Levet gave 45,467 credits to charity six months ago,” Obi-Wan murmured; he reached over, tapping the donations record into a new screen, “all of which went to the same charity, The Duro Recolonization Movement. How generous.”

Qui-Gon crossed his arms.

“Botany,” he said and Obi-Wan looked up, his mind clearly following Qui-Gon’s.

“We have a possible motive.”

Qui-Gon tilted his head in agreement. He looked over at Obi-Wan. The young man had turned back to the computer, his gaze focused inward, lost in thought.

“We need to discuss this matter with Baniss-Ena and track Levet down before he becomes suspicious,” Qui-Gon stated.

Obi-Wan nodded, he stood, crossing the room to where his boots were. He bent down, pulling them on, his padwan braid falling over his shoulder.

“We should leave as soon as possible,” he said.

Qui-Gon stood, wiping the computer systems and restoring the previous data. Obi-Wan strode back towards him, kneeling down by the open wall compartment to disconnect the link he had wired between their computer and The Builder’s Hotel computer. Qui-Gon attached his lightsaber to his utility belt that he had fastened around his hips, his civilian shirt long enough that the weapon was concealed, but easily accessible.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon was able to contact Baniss-Ena directly after a few calls with his comlink and they agreed to meet outside Shipyard 59. He knew the Durosian officer was confused by his instruction to have Levet there but it was not something that Qui-Gon wanted to explain over the comlink. He couldn’t guarantee that Baniss-Ena wouldn’t attempt to confront Levet immediately, and though he felt the officer could more than hold their own, he did not want to risk more people getting harmed.

They arrived at Shipyard 59 in only a few minutes, as the shipyard was quite close to their new lodgings and Obi-Wan recalled the precise location from his trip through the shipyards the day previous. Neither of them spoke on their short walk, instead they moved in comfortable silence at each other’s side. Obi-Wan looked serious and yet, not quite like a Jedi in his civilian clothes, the faded blue jacket blending in with the other clothes worn by Duro pilots and non-Durosian travelers they passed as they crossed through the city and entered the shipyard. Qui-Gon supposed he looked just as unJedi-like, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the thin burgundy fabric shifting against him in the slight breeze from the heat vents inside the shipyard.

They walked across the duracrete surface of the shipyard. The area was relatively empty, though a few engineers moved around them, hauling construction materials on small hovering carts. Only a few droids crossed their path, as the majority of the ships were built through manual labor.

Qui-gon tilted his head slightly to look up. A small passenger ship was under construction at Shipyard 59. Its frame was more practical then those being built in other shipyards, though it still displayed the smooth geometric beauty that all Duro craft had. The ship hung above them, supported by giant cables, so that the underside was accessible for maintenance. The dark metal of it gleamed in the bright lights placed around the shipyard, Qui-gon let his gaze trail further, always surprised to see the openness of space above the shipyards.

Obi-Wan paused at the edge of the shipyard and Qui-Gon watched him turn slightly, surveying the area with sharp eyes. It was difficult to look away from the resolute young man, Qui-Gon’s gaze following Obi-Wan as they waited for Baniss-Ena and Levet to arrive. After a few minutes Obi-Wan spoke abruptly to Qui-Gon without looking at him.

“I can return to the hotel, if you wish.”

Qui-Gon frowned in confusion, wondering if something had upset Obi-Wan, though he could sense very little of the man at the moment. Obi-Wan’s shields had strengthened enough now that he caught only the distant hum of the man’s mind.

“Why?’

Obi-Wan shrugged. He seemed preoccupied almost, watching a few engineers who were welding a section of the underbelly of the massive ship above them.

“It is only if you do not want me to interfere.”

Qui-Gon looked briefly up at the ship before looking back at Obi-Wan who had turned and was now watching him steadily. Qui-Gon was quite sure that if he ordered Obi-Wan to leave, Obi-Wan would be obedient, the younger man so used to the hierarchical system that must have existed between Virmu and him. They regarded one another silently, a few feet apart, Qui-gon’s hair drifting against his face and shoulders in the subtle wind caused by the air circulation.

“You are not my padawan,” Qui-Gon said finally, his voice low enough that only Obi-Wan could hear it, “I do not expect you to follow my directions. I wish to have you here because I value your opinions. I do not have the power to send you away and I do not want to.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head, his expression was still very serious, but the tension around his eyes relaxed, their color almost gray now.

“Good,” he said quietly, and surprisingly he smiled slightly.

It was not the same vibrant smile that Qui-Gon had seen in the shipyard bar, but it was compelling and sad all at once and he looked away, surprised at his own need to reach out and touch Obi-Wan’s face.

The hum of a speeder broke though the low noise of engineers and construction around them. They both turned, watching as a speeder emblazoned with Duro Security on one side of it hovered a few feet above the ground. Baniss-Ena jumped out, landing smoothly on the ground. They straightened, tugging their white jacket into place. For a moment, Qui-Gon thought that Levet had not come, but he realized that Levet was piloting, the Durosian guiding the speeder a few meters forward and slowly landing it on the cracked duracrete. Baniss-Ena waited for him to swing out of his seat, before both officers approached them.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan exchanged a glance, an acknowledgment of what they expected to happen as they walked towards the two. The four of them met in the center of the shipyard. Baniss-Ena eyed them tiredly, seeming torn between exhaustion and eagerness to know more of what was happening.

“You found more information?” the security officer asked, crossing their arms.

Qui-Gon nodded.

“It would appear so.”

He began to discuss investigative procedures that Obi-Wan and Virmu had handled the day before, giving Obi-Wan time to draw Levet into a separate conversation. The two of them began to discuss botany, Obi-Wan implying an interest in certain plants native to Duro. Qui-Gon allowed them to drift into a more relaxed conversation before speaking quietly to Baniss-Ena.

“I need to know if I have your permission to arrest the culprit, if I find them.”

Baniss-Ena blinked, clearly astounded.

“Of course. That is what you are here for.”

Qui-Gon dipped his head in acknowledgement before turning to Levet.

“Officer DeBrek, as a representative of The Republic Judicial Department I am arresting you for sabotage, intent to do harm, and possible assassination.”

Levet’s aqua skin paled a few shades, his brow furrowing.

“I do not understand,” he said. His voice gave no hint of guilt, only confusion, and Baniss-Ena looked sharply at Qui-Gon.

“You brought Master Jinn back to the hotel after his discussion with your head officer,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

“Yes,’ Levet answered, still dazed.

“But prior to that, you were already at the hotel. You entered Virmu’s and my quarters while speaking to someone on a comlink. You then left and proceeded to the corridor above, where you unscrewed a vent and placed a timed canister inside that would release gas into the room below, but only when you knew the three of us would be there.”

Baniss-Ena turned, staring hard at Levet.

“You did not report when I contacted you while Master Jinn and I were speaking.”

“I was busy!” Levet protested, but his skin was blotching slightly now and his lipless mouth moved in agitation. He looked around the shipyard before staring at Qui-Gon stubbornly.

“I have no need to harm a Jedi, you insult my Duro heritage.”

“A heritage extending back to generations that once inhabited a now polluted planet,” Qui-Gon said calmly, “Just what is your connection to The Duro Recolonization Movement?’

Levet’s round eyes turned towards them, his slit pupils contracting.

“This is absurd, you have no evidence!” he hissed, but Baniss-Ena stepped forward, their expression chilling.

“Do you really believe a Jedi would make such accusations against one of my officers without evidence? You have harmed a Jedi, what other intentions did you have? Were you also responsible for stealing our ships?”

“Ships!” Levet snapped, his hairless skin was flushed blue with anger, “What is metal compared to people?”

The conversation had remained quiet, but Levet’s agitation and Baniss-Ena’s rage were gathering attention from several engineers who had stopped their work and were watching the events closely. Qui-Gon bit back a grimace. He regretted meeting in such a public place but it was too late now to bring the confrontation somewhere else.

Baniss-Ena seemed besides words, staring at Levet, their long fingers clenched into fists, their expression dark.

“You traitor!” they snarled and Levet recoiled from the officer’s palpable anger before affecting a shrug of indifference.

“Traitor?! I have worked tirelessly to maintain the ties that we have left to our world! What use is space without a home?! Duro can be restored!” Levet insisted.

He seemed caught between bragging and pleading, his eyes darting around the area. The group of engineers had edged closer and Qui-Gon shifted, blocking their view of Levet. He turned back to the security officer.

“Duro is uninhabitable,” Qui-Gon said softly, and Levet whipped around to stare at him defiantly.

“How could a Jedi understand these matters?” he asked scornfully, “we have proof that parts of Duro are able to be recolonized. We could return to our home, if the government would only be willing to listen.”

“But why steal ships?” Obi-Wan asked calmly, as if remarking on the weather and Levet bristled, enraged.

“Why not? My own people discard their culture to build their ships, they must realize what they have thrown aside! We must restore their heritage!”

Never before had Qui-Gon seen a Durosian speak so passionately and be moved to such defensiveness. He glanced at Obi-Wan whose face was blank, revealing nothing as the younger man regarded the Durosian with a sort of distant curiosity. Obi-Wan’s mind on the other hand was humming with thought, too rapid for Qui-Gon to follow and still maintain the conversation happening now.

“We?” Baniss-Ena questioned harshly and Levet drew himself up.

“The people of Duro,” he announced, and surprisingly, Obi-Wan smiled.

It was almost sympathetic, but there was an edge there that Qui-Gon saw and he waited.

“What did you do with the ships when you stole them?” Obi-Wan asked neutrally, and Levet shrugged again, angered beyond fear of exposure.

“What does it matter? Many will pay for a Duro ship, though they will not pay for reinvesting in Duro.”

Baniss-Ena started to say something but a sudden awareness burst across Qui-Gon’s mind, Obi-wan reached for him instantly, hand barely touching Qui-Gon’s and for a half-second they both felt it before the platform they were on exploded, fire and light ripping them away from each other.

Qui-Gon was thrown backwards, he reached for the Force, attempting to control his fall but it was too late. He slammed into the ground and rolled instinctively to cushion the blow, his shirt catching on something and ripping, his shoulder throbbing. Hot debris rained down around him, and Qui-Gon flung an arm up to shield his face, wincing as a piece of metal slammed into his leg.

He was aware of people screaming, his ears ringing from the explosion. Gritting his teeth, Qui-Gon pushed off the ground and staggered upright, hissing as pain laced down his shoulder. It took no more than a second to verify his injuries. At the most they were irritatingly painful, but they would not hinder him and he moved forward, evading the debris, coughing from the smoke and the heavy smell of chemicals unleashed by the explosion.

He felt Obi-Wan’s presence searing against his mind, powerful and searching for him frantically. Qui-Gon reached through the Force automatically, encompassing the connection between them, not sure for a moment whose emotions he was feeling. It was a jumbled mix of concern, determination, and pain before Obi-Wan pulled back quickly, raising shields to allow mental distance.

The passenger ship above them teetered on its supports, creaking, several cables had snapped in the explosion and Qui-Gon knew that the area needed to be evacuated immediately. The dark metal of the ship was scorched, flames were licking the entire left side of the shipyard from where a fire had started in what was left of the welding area. In the billowing smoke he glimpsed the shapes of engineers, some staggering upwards. One of them was on fire, shrieking horribly and Qui-gon stumbled towards them, but a Durosian got there first, throwing them to the ground and frantically slapping the flames out. In the light of the fire, Qui-Gon saw that it was Baniss-Ena, the officer running towards another engineer who lay unmoving on the ground.

Alarms were wailing now and he glimpsed the darkness of space above the smog, speeders rushing towards the scene. Obi-Wan was suddenly at Qui-Gon’s side, his face streaked with dirt, his gaze single-mindedly searching the smoke before he surged forward, Qui-Gon behind him.

The thin shape of Levet had risen up from the ground, the bright band on his wrist catching the firelight. The officer scrambled for his speeder, frantically attempting to start it. In seconds Qui-Gon’s lightsaber was in his palm, he ignited the green blade and threw it. It spiraled through the air in a gleaming arc, burying into the speeder engine and he glimpsed Levet’s face crease in a snarl before the Durosian jumped to the ground and ran.

It was instinct to pursue. Qui-Gon summoning his lightsaber back into his hand, Obi-Wan by his side as they ran after Levet who moved with speed and efficiency, having a familiarity with the area that far outstripped their own. Another explosion came behind them and they both stumbled, Qui-gon whipping his head around to see that the passenger ship had crashed to the ground, impacting the duracrete with brutal force, screams rising in the cold air. He turned to go back but Obi-wan grabbed his wrist again, his grip like iron.

“We need to find Levet!” Obi-wan yelled over the terrible noise, the Force throbbing with the pain and confusion behind them, the smell of burning metal sharp in their lungs.

Qui-Gon looked at the man wordlessly and Obi-wan shook his head, his nose was bleeding, his face illuminated by the firelight, blank of anything but cold resolve.

“We have to stop this,” Obi-Wan said grimly, pulling on the older Jedi’s arm and Qui-Gon followed him without thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay now everyone wants to kill me for that cliffhanger, sorry...
> 
> also i realize after doing more research that i was inaccurate about Baniss-Ena's gender identity. i wasn't aware of the difference between androgynous and bigender and inaccurately labeled Baniss-Ena as bigender, when really they are androgynous. sorry. but, regardless, they are a badass. :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! i'm so sorry that i made you wait three weeks for this update. the amount of papers i had to write for school was insane. i am still finishing up one paper but with any luck i should be able to get back to my regular two-week updating schedule. because of the rush, i know this chapter may have a few grammar errors, i do apologize and will go back in and fix the comma errors when i can. however, i feel like this chapter is too important to keep you all waiting, so here it is! 
> 
> also, i do want to remind you that after this chapter i only have two more until i finish part one of System of Darkness. i decided when first starting the fic that i would separate it into two parts, so rest assured this fic is continuing! however, after part one i will take a short break (no more than a month or so) to work out the story line for part two. i'll let you know when i'm going to update and we'll go back to the two-week update schedule for part two. i even arranged classes for next semester so that i am not taking writing-intensive classes and thus can devote more time to writing system of darkness :) 
> 
> as always, comments are very much appreciated!

The destruction at shipyard 59 seemed to follow Obi-Wan, alert sirens shrieking in his ears as he ran. The darkness was thick around them, smoke rising in spiraling columns behind him and Qui-Gon, searing each sharp inhale. The part of him that felt pain and exhaustion had shut down; he was locked into the moment. He breathed because he had to and he ran because catching Levet was the only thing that mattered. He kept his gaze steady in front of him, sensing Qui-Gon beside him, the large man limping very slightly. Obi-Wan could no longer see Levet’s bright orange jacket in the faint light of other buildings and distant shipyards. The second explosion had lost them precious seconds.

Obi-Wan reached out with the Force, faltering only slightly as he felt Qui-Gon’s mind so close to his own, his shields lower than he had thought they were. Something sharp surged back at him through the Force and Obi-Wan knew he had the Durosian officer’s direction. He increased his speed. The screams behind him and the taste of blood in his mouth meant nothing. He needed only to find Levet.

Automatically, Obi-Wan recalled various routes, mentally mapping the aerial and ground layout of the shipyard that he was familiar with. He dismissed instantly the paths that would take too long to travel and looked instead for shortcuts. There were large portions of the Duro spaceport that were unknown to him, but he was grateful that Virmu had wished to travel most of the main shipyards the day previous. He jerked to a stop and Qui-Gon halted behind him, turning with him as Obi-Wan abruptly took a sidepath between a row of tall angular buildings. He felt Qui-Gon close besides him, their shoulders occasionally colliding as they ran. They were aware enough of one another that the younger man did not have to speak for Qui-Gon to know where he was going or what he wanted to do.

Obi-Wan knew the side path would lead to shipyard 15, recalling seeing it cut through the city when they had flown over the Duro shipyard on their way to the hotel. Qui-Gon and him bolted through the side path, Obi-Wan moving forward to take the lead in the narrow space. His ribs ached with each breath but he ignored it, focusing on the light from the shipyard up ahead. Seconds later they bust out of the narrow sidepath, the brightness around them near blinding after the hazy darkness they had left behind.

Obi-Wan turned sharply, running towards shipyard 15. He halted again near the edge of the construction framework, searching for the Durosian officer. He could sense Levet nearby, though he could not verify it. The officer was not Force-sensitive and that made it harder to pinpoint his location. Virmu would have demanded an explanation from him for his arbitrary pausing, but Qui-Gon said nothing. The man stopped when Obi-Wan did, his dark blue eyes scanning the area with a piercing gaze, his lightsaber at his side, his burgundy shirt in tatters.

Obi-Wan kept his grip tight on his own lightsaber as he searched for the Durosian’s presence, his muscles tense, ready to move at anytime. He disliked how little he really knew of the Duro Shipyard layout. It was entirely possible that Levet could have slipped away or stolen another transport during the chase. The sound of shipyard 15’s engineers worried talking merged with the still wailing alarms but Obi-Wan blocked the noise out, searching the crowded construction area…

Qui-Gon suddenly moved by his side, breaking into a run and Obi-Wan went with him. They passed the group of startled engineers who were huddled together, anxiously watching the smoke in the distance. Obi-Wan ducked around a maintenance crane as they sped by a row of air circulators, wind blowing hard against their sides, Qui-Gon’s long hair snapping around his shoulders.

Shipyard 15 was massive and Obi-Wan bit his lip, desperately trying to recall his observations of the shipyard from the day before. Virmu and him had had only been on the outskirts of shipyard 15. The battle cruiser that was being constructed there was nothing more than an enormous skeleton, scaffeling surrounding both sides of the ship’s framework with the shipyard ending at the edge of the colossal floating spaceport.

Obi-Wan jerked his head up, suddenly glimpsing a flash of orange through the mix of dark green uniforms of engineers. He bolted across the shipyard seeing Levet twist away and run, the Durosian shoving an engineer aside in his haste. There was no way that the Durosian could possibly outrun them but Obi-Wan felt his hands clench in tension. There was more to the situation than what he was seeing. Levet couldn’t be working alone or he would have hid instead of leading them in pursuit.

There was no time to discuss the danger with Qui-Gon, but Obi-Wan felt him move closer to his side, the other Jedi picking up the elusive warning. Obi-Wan instinctively fell back, scanning the area as he ran. He dropped his weak shields lower, reaching outwards with the Force. Qui-Gon continued on without him, the man’s boots ringing against the duracrete as he increased his speed.

The foreboding sensation rose through the Force and Obi-Wan slowed further, turning and examining the shipyard with quick eyes, desperate to find the new threat facing them. A small Rodian engineer broke away from the group of maintenance workers and ran towards him,

“What’s going on?” she demanded, gesturing to the smoke and distant sirens coming from shipyard 59.

Obi-Wan shook his head, sensing Qui-Gon’s mind latching unto his, the older Jedi closing in on Levet. He turned, his lungs and ribs burning as he threw all his energy into running. He came up along Qui-Gon’s side, slowing his pace and igniting his lightsaber. Levet dashed forward but they had cornered him on the edge of the platform and he snapped backwards, having hit the invisible atmosphere barrier. He staggered upright, facing them, mouth twisted with rage.

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan halted, branching out. Obi-Wan took the left side, moving inwards at the same time Qui-Gon did. From his angle Obi-Wan noticed some of the engineers were approaching the scene, watching from behind the dubious safety of the ship’s scaffling. The sense of hidden danger was still humming through the Force but Obi-Wan could not spare the time to tell the engineers to stay back.

Qui-Gon and him advanced on Levet slowly, cornering him where he spun desperately looking for an escape. Levet had yanked out his blaster but was not aiming it, perhaps aware of the hopelessness of resisting as Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon approached him calmly with their lightsabers held deceptively loose at their sides. Obi-Wan looked over at Qui-Gon, the tall man’s graying hair blew in the faint breeze and his ripped shirt pressed against him, exposing bruised pale skin. Dirt and ash covered part of the man’s face, his green lightsaber gleaming at his side. Only the fluid quiet motions of the older Jedi made him distinguishable from any other victim of the bombing. His handsome face was turned slightly, watching Levet closely.

Something flickered at the edge of Obi-Wan’s vision. He glanced to the right. A high ranked engineer had moved apart from the group of engineers watching, stepping around the edge of the scaffling. Obi-Wan recognized the Durosian immediately as Kiom Jokol, one of the shipyard’s head engineers. Her blue skin caught the bright lights, as she stood there. She was watching the scene intently, her hand closed hard on something.

It was momentary, the awareness of the engineer, the recognition of seeing her minutes ago at shipyard 59, the shape of the object in her hand. Obi-Wan lunged to the side as the Durosian flung the small orb towards them. His mind reached for Qui-Gon’s frantically, desperately trying to lower his shields to warn the man.

In that second Obi-Wan saw only the woman’s triumphant smile and felt Qui-Gon began to turn, their bodies colliding as Obi-Wan shoved the larger man to the ground before everything around them erupted. Something shattered deep inside him as the thermal detonator exploded, impacting the duracrete where Qui-Gon had stood

Pain sliced through Obi-Wan’s skull. One of Qui-Gon’s arms caught against his ribs, they hit the duracrete and rolled together, away from the blast. Obi-Wan was aware of Qui-Gon climbing over him, trying to shield him with his larger body but the younger man shoved Qui-Gon away, instinctively rising, spitting blood out, determined to keep fighting. He felt unsteady, sinking down to one knee before forcing himself back up again, his mind reeling as ash fell over them.

The radius of the detonator blast had been small and controlled and though some of the shipyard’s scaffeling had been blown apart, it was not the devastation that shipyard 59 had been. Obi-Wan stumbled, inhaling tightly against the fumes. The sound of running feet hit his ears oddly against the ringing sensation left by the bomb and the screams of panicking engineers. Through the haze of smoke he saw the shapes of Kiom and Levet fleeing across the platform and Obi-Wan followed them, staggering before finding his footing and pushing himself to run after them.

His lightsaber was still in his hand and he thumbed it on, struggling to stay upright. He felt Qui-Gon beside him, the sensation doubling his disorientation and Obi-Wan stumbled again, his head searing with pain. He put a hand to his temple, trying to rise his shields against the closeness of another mind but it was impossible. He could sense Qui-Gon stronger than he ever had, the man more real than the ground beneath his moving feet, the clouded air he breathed.

It was too much, the intensity of another mind and he could feel Qui-Gon recoil, the man’s Force presence vibrating with his own pain, unable to withstand the sudden raw uncontrollable power of Obi-Wan’s mind. Obi-Wan tried to pull back as well, to retreat behind shields but it was impossible. His shields were gone, his mind a howling abyss that sucked in all light. He staggered again, aware that his nose had started bleeding once more. He felt fear and did not know who it belonged to. He did not know what had happened and only instinct kept him going.

The pain was terrifying and he drew on his training to ignore it and control what he could, pushing himself to run harder, to stay focused. His head was pounding, lungs desperately trying to bring in more air. He could not spare the energy to see if he was physically hurt, he knew only that his mind was throbbing with agony, his ability to use the Force distorted, mutilated in some way. They were nearing Kiom and Levet but the arresting of the Durosians seemed suddenly an impossible task, Obi-Wan shook his head, his vision wavering. He felt that if he did not stop he would collapse. A burst of energy flowed through him, the sensation so real that he felt it as if it had texture and dimension. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth, knowing the added strength came from Qui-Gon, the man giving what he could though it caused pain every time their minds touched.

Obi-Wan shook his head again, holding back the whimper that rose pitifully inside him. It had never been like this before. He had been so careful to not allow his shields to fall apart, to restrain from touching anyone’s mind, even with the warm comfort Qui-Gon’s mind had been whenever the man drew close. Now that was gone, buried under layers of roiling pain.

Terror flowed through him and around him, Obi-Wan drawing air through clenched teeth. Qui-Gon would not be able to endure the dangers Obi-Wan’s mind presented, Obi-Wan tried desperately again to pull away, to protect the other man but they were connected in some way and he could not understand how. His vision was barely present, his breathing uncontrolled, he steadied himself as best he could but he was ashamed of his own terror. Obi-Wan had not felt another Jedi inside his mind since the healers had forcibly taken memories from him, the pain was unexpected and he felt entirely unprepared for whatever it was that was suffocating them with an unstoppable flood of power.

He latched on to his need to defend himself and focused on Kiom and Levet who had begun to stagger and slow down. The Duros were streaked with dirt and ash and Levet was limping heavily. Qui-Gon swiveled around the Duros, blocking their exit, the older man pale and unsteady, but grimly maintaining control. Obi-Wan moved automatically forward to prevent Kiom and Levet from circling back. He was shaking from the pain and sudden chills but he had no other choice but to keep going.

A speeder roared overhead, all of them ducking instinctively. It screeched to a halt and Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon stepped back, resigned to deal with whatever happened, a grim understanding sparking through their shared conscious, lightsabers raised. The speeder dipped its battered frame and Baniss-Ena leapt out, their blaster raised. Obi-Wan felt immense relief at seeing the head security officer, surprising himself at how much he needed reinforcement.

The relief stuttered through him again and realized it was from Qui-Gon now. He shook his head at the too powerful emotions, swamped with that elusive pain that would not leave his mind. Automatically they moved forward, tightening the gap between them and Levet and Kiom. Neither the security officer or the engineer seemed to know quite what to do, their eyes darted from the Jedi to Baniss-Ena, but they did not dare break loose.

Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon through the smoke drifting over them, biting his lip hard as he saw how ill the older man looked, his face blanched of color, his free hand clenched. Qui-Gon nodded though and they pulled in tighter, Qui-Gon favoring his left leg. Levet’s shoulders slumped, Kiom hissed something at him but she remained where she was, her large eyes narrowed as she glared at them. Baniss-Ena stepped froward, more disheveled than Obi-Wan had ever seen, but their grip on their blaster was aimed steadily at Levet and Kiom.

“DeBrek, Jokol, I am arresting you for theft, attempted murder and treason. You will be sentenced to solitary confinement until your trial.”

Kiom’s lipless mouth twitched in a sneer of rage, she seemed poised to run when another speeder thundered overhead, landing haphazardly. A dozen security officers poured from the speeder, fanning out behind Baniss-Ena. Obi-Wan watched Levet turn, the Durosian appearing almost lost as his fellow officers surrounded him.

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly, trying to move past the aching in his skull. He forced himself not to reveal his weakness and watched the Duros steadily for any sudden movement. Levet looked at the ground but Kiom glared, her expression mutinous as she glanced between the two Jedi and security officers.

“Do you have anything to say before you are interrogated?” Baniss-Ena demanded harshly, their eyes narrowed.

Levet seemed too defeated to speak, but Kiom stepped forward.

“Reclaim Duro!” she called, her voice high, almost frenzied. It was a statement exchanged among the Duro Recolonization Movement radicals, a call of solidarity that went unanswered in the smoke-clouded shipyard.

Baniss-Ena frowned then nodded curtly at the officers behind them who stepped forward. Obi-Wan watched the arrests, only shutting off his lightsaber when Levet and Kiom were escorted away. He was incredibly tired and mentally reeling with pain, feeling Qui-Gon’s similar exhaustion illuminate his mind. He tried again to raise his shields against the overwhelming pressure of another’s Force presence, but it was pointless, his shields were gone.

He felt Qui-Gon approach him, perhaps even reach out for him but Obi-Wan stepped back and walked a few paces away. His mind no longer felt like his own, Qui-Gon’s thoughts and feelings slammed into him and Obi-Wan felt so overwhelmed with the painful sensations that he did not think he could keep operating at a normal level.

He sensed Qui-Gon’s mind attempt to retreat but again it was hopeless. They were locked into one another with no clear indication of what was happening. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose now that it had stopped bleeding. His ribs ached and it felt like one had cracked during the first explosion.

“Master Jedi, I request that you be present during interrogations,” Baniss-Ena called.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, he nodded, not needing to look at Qui-Gon to know that the other man had agreed as well. They were both exhausted and dealing with unexpected consequences of something Obi-Wan could not understand, but neither could turn away from what was required of them. They were Jedi, they would endure.

His head was pounding, the physical aches of his body almost nonexistent to the painful trap his own mind had become. He tried again to push Qui-Gon’s mind away but it would not happen. He settled for ignoring the man and instead concentrated on remaining alert and on his feet.

Despite his intentions, the entire trip to the Duro prison was a blur, Obi-Wan unaware of how he entered the cold building or what had been said and done during that time. He stumbled and felt Qui-Gon’s large hand automatically touch his arm, helping guide him into a brightly-lit corridor. Surprisingly the man’s touch seemed to reduce the pain of the strange contact their minds had and Obi-Wan looked sharply up at him.

He could still sense Qui-Gon’s turmoil, the man trying to retreat from Obi-Wan’s Force presence. Qui-Gon bent his head. His graying brown hair fell across his face, his breath leaving him in short pauses. Obi-Wan looked hard at him, aware that whatever was between them was parasitic to them both, draining them. He fumbled for his shields, feeling terror again that they weren’t there. Qui-Gon’s grip on his arm was the only thing steadying Obi-Wan and he did not know how he would make it through interrogating the Duros.

Qui-Gon met his eyes suddenly, the lines on the man’s face more pronounced in the stark lighting, his gaze swamped with confusion and pain. There was a steeliness there too, the man dipping his head slightly, light from the brightly lit corridor gleaming off the crooked bridge of his nose, highlighting the man’s thin lips, the slant of his collarbones. They exchanged a silent sort of agreement, to endure the pain until they could resolve the issue somehow. The matter of the Duro thefts still needed to be taken care of.

The prison was quiet and cold. The only point of warmth Obi-Wan felt was Qui-Gon’s hand on his arm. The pain had quieted somewhat, but it was still there. Obi-Wan forced each breath to remain even, stepping to the side as a group of officers entered the corridor, escorting Levet and Kiom down the hall and into a small room on the right. Baniss-Ena appeared suddenly near them, the Durosian filled with a tired fury. They ran a hand over their bare skull, staring at the backs of Levet and Kiom.

“There will be a trial, even without a confession. The damage to the civilians alone at shipyard 59…”

Baniss-Ena shook their head, the officer gesturing at them to follow as they stepped toward the room that Levet and Kiom had disappeared into.

Obi-Wan bit his lip. He knew that somewhere within the building the Trevsin slavers were imprisoned and it just made everything worse. He felt Qui-Gon shift near him but the man said nothing, perhaps to respect his privacy though that was impossible. Their minds hummed against each other and Obi-Wan resisted such exposure, wanting to lash out in self-defense. He felt Qui-Gon flinch and try again to mentally retreat but there was nothing they could do. It took an enormous effort for Obi-Wan to step forwards, following Baniss-Ena.

Obi-Wan entered the small cold interrogation room, his torn blue jacket providing little warmth as he sat down on an oddly sloped chair. Qui-Gon sat down next to him, his hand slipping away momentarily from Obi-Wan’s arm. The pain returned tenfold and Obi-Wan gripped Qui-Gon’s knee under the table, desperate to remain in contact as his head swarmed with bursts of agony. Qui-Gon’s hand closed over the top of his scarred fingers, the older Jedi’s eyes large, both of them aware of each other’s fear. The situation was terrifying now and Obi-Wan did not know if he could last long without any shields. He had known when Virmu had instructed him on shielding that it was to protect others, but he had not realized at how much it protected himself. Obi-Wan’s first instinct was to fall into a healing trance but he was incapable of doing do. Force healing was an area he was extremely unskilled in. He would have to manage however he could.

He was bombarded with emotion, sensations from Qui-Gon, though he could sense Qui-Gon trying to restrain for his sake. Pain was the primary emotion, but there were layers of worry and concern under that, and beneath that there was something else, warm and expanding, seeping into Obi-Wan. He frowned, unsure of what such a feeling was, or why Qui-Gon felt it so strongly towards him.

There was no time to consider the matter, Baniss-Ena had settled at the head of the table, glaring at Kiom and Levet who sat across from Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, their wrists bound. Other security officers filed in, five in all who stood behind Kiom and Levet. Kiom still looked livid, her noseless and lipless face wrathful as she glared back at Baniss-Ena. Levet was examining the area with a mournful sort of familiarity and Obi-Wan could not help thinking how pathetic the whole thing was.

A rushing sensation pushed against his mind as Qui-Gon’s own thoughts of the situation surged rapidly through him and Obi-Wan shut his eyes momentarily, feeling the overwhelming sensation that he might pass out. He did not look at Qui-Gon, too confused to try to evaluate what might be wrong. Clearly something had destroyed his shields when the thermal detonator had gone off. It was his own fault for choosing to get close to Qui-Gon, to allow their minds to touch at all in the first place.

“This interrogation is to verify that Levet DeBrek and Kiom Jokol, both of Duro descent, stole priceless starships from the Duro Starshipwright shipyard.” Baniss-Ena intoned, their eyes narrowing.

They glanced over at Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan.

“Also to verify their intent to harm civilians and Jedi.”

A low beep came and Obi-Wan was aware suddenly of a small machine in the corner of the room lighting faintly, evidently a recording device. It was apparent that Baniss-Ena was waiting for one of them to speak and Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon lean forward slightly, the man’s face and voice calm, despite the pain ricocheting inside his mind,

“Why did you believe that stealing ships would help in the recolonization of Duro?” he asked mildly.

Kiom hissed, her unusually blue skin flushing darker with emotion. Obi-Wan inhaled slightly, sensing her anger as a sharp burst across his already injured mind. Qui-Gon’s hand tightened on top of his, centering him and Obi-Wan turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through Qui-Gon’s, understanding that the man needed his support as well. Ignoring the older Jedi was pointless, they were trapped together and helpless at the moment, the least he could do was provide comfort to Qui-Gon and touch seemed to settle some of the jarring pain.

“Do not speak of Duro. You understand nothing of it!” Kiom spat vehemently, eyes flashing.

“You have betrayed your own people!” Baniss-Ena snapped at her.

Levet looked up with a sort of fatalistic resentment. Half his face was swollen an odd teal color from being too near the blast radius in the bombings.

“We are helping our people!” he insisted.

Baniss-Ena drew their shoulders back, their gaze furious.

“You have killed five Duros and harmed dozens of others, including a Jedi Master.”

Levet looked away, his mouth tightening.

“I did not agree to the bombings,” he mumbled.

Obi-Wan looked up fully, pushing aside the pain to focus on Kiom.

“You were responsible for the explosions at shipyards 15 and 59,” he stated, keeping his voice firm.

Kiom stared at him blankly before crossing her arms, leaning back in her chair.

“I did what was necessary.”

Obi-Wan looked away, ignoring the pain that pushed against his skull. He was shivering slightly, his distorted reflection appeared in the gleaming metal of the walls opposite him. he was pale, and damaged from the bombings. Blood had dried spattered over his face and jacket. He felt immensely tired, his hands shaking. Qui-Gon’s large fingers gripped his underneath the table, the man’s gaze soft, despite the sharp wounding pain between them.

“Why was harming people necessary?” Qui-Gon asked quietly in the heavy silence, and Kiom started stonily at him.

“I did not intend to harm Duros.”

“You intended to harm the Jedi!” Baniss-Ena declared angrily, “Twice, you have attempted murder against them.”

Kiom shrugged.

“They were preventing us from reaching our goal.”

“Your goal being the recolonization of Duro,” Obi-Wan said, the pain in his head lacing his words with cold disdain.

Levet surprisingly gave a small smile. His long fingers flexed, the binders around his wrists clinking slightly.

“It will happen,” he asserted, “We needed only the credits to purchase the land.”

“And that was worth threatening lives and bartering ships like a common Neimoidian?” Baniss-Ena hissed, their hands clenched on the edges of the table.

Levet shifted but Kiom glared sharply at Baniss-Ena, her mouth curling,

“The Neimoidians are more willing to help Duro then you think,” she declared

Obi-Wan exchanged a look with Qui-Gon, dropping his gaze as their minds contacted again in a disorienting blur of emotions, thoughts and pain. He gripped Qui-Gon’s large hand hard, feeling his tense muscles ache with chills. Qui-Gon’s fingers encased his own, the older man swallowing before speaking quietly again.

“So you sold the ships to the Neimoidians. How did you manage to steal starships without being caught?”

Kiom shook her head.

“You Jedi think you can drag a confession out of me, but I will not be swayed by your mindtricks.”

The statement would have been true at one time but at the moment Obi-Wan was unsure if he was even able to use the Force. He felt if he touched someone else’s mind he would obliterate it, so uncontrolled was he now, any possible strength going to trying to keep Qui-Gon’s mind separate from his own power. Qui-Gon’s hand tightened over his own, the man pale, but managing to remain calm throughout the pain.

“That is not necessary.” Qui-Gon said softly, “I have the information I need.”

Obi-Wan looked up at the head of the table and Baniss-Ena nodded.

“Separate them and detain them on block four, I want them far away from the slavers.” They instructed the officers and Kiom and Levet were pulled up.

Both Durosians remained silent, Kiom continuing to glare while Levet stared at the floor. They were led out and Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were left alone with Baniss-Ena. The security officer looked hard at them.

“This has been exhausting for all of us, but the Neimoidians must be approached by a representative of the Senate. My officers have no jurisdiction over them as the Neimoidians are not residing at this shipyard but at the ninth city.”

Qui-Gon nodded and glanced at Obi-Wan. It was clear without speaking that Qui-Gon would have to confront the Neimoidians. Obi-Wan was not allowed to make arrests as a padawan and at the moment he was unsure if he could manage much longer without shields.

Baniss-Ena shook their head.

“I am ashamed,” they said softly, “I never imagined I would see my own kind turn against me.”

They sighed, standing slowly and staring at the dark surface of the table.

“The important thing is to make sure that a few radicals do not destroy the ideals of the Duro Recolonization Movement,” Baniss-Ena offered a small bitter smile, “It is a foolish dream, the Recolonization, but it is not right to prevent dreaming.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head, determined to remain calm despite the ice-cold agony that surged inside him.

“I’m sure the movement will continue regardless, however, you must be prepared for the backlash against the Duro community once this becomes public,” he said quietly.

Baniss-Ena nodded tiredly before lifting their head in pride.

“We are Duros, Master Jedi, we will not allow this to happen again.”

Qui-Gon shifted slightly near Obi-Wan. His face was worn with fatigue, but his voice was even.

“The Duro government must be alerted about this as soon as possible. The Shipbuilding business cannot continue until civilians feel secure.”

Obi-Wan withheld a wince as a eruption of thoughts battered against his own, he was immeasurably grateful that he was sitting down, that Qui-Gon’s hand on top of his was anchoring him in someway.

“This will not help the trade talks between Duro and Nemoidia,” he remarked shakily.

Baniss-Ena crossed their arms.

“As well it should not. The Neimoidians preyed upon Levet and Kiom’s fanaticism.”

They sighed again, their dirt-streaked face grim.

“I will alert The Company that the thieves have been caught. I imagine the Senate must know as well?”

Both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon nodded and Obi-Wan spoke up tiredly.

“I will alert the Council and they’ll inform the Senate.” He half-glanced at Qui-Gon, “that will give you time to speak with the Neimoidians.”

He sensed Qui-Gon agree without having to look at the man. Baniss-Ena nodded.

“I’ll arrange a few officers to take you to the ninth city. You should find the Neimoidians there easily enough, as they are being housed by our government.” Their mouth twitched bitterly.

Obi-Wan knew that he had no reason to be there any longer. His role in the mission now only consisted of informing the Council. But the pain that resided in his mind trapped him. He felt something almost akin to panic, knowing that the intense pressure would only worsen as soon as his and Qui-Gon’s hands separated. He clenched his jaw, ashamed that he would even need such attachment.

He stood abruptly, Qui-Gon sensing his mind and releasing his hand even as the pain hit them as a crushing weight. Only Jedi training kept Obi-Wan quiet and standing. He shuddered once, swallowing hard before striding from the room. The feel of Qui-Gon’s own pain rebounded against him and he stumbled in the hallway, putting a hand out to brace himself against the corridor wall. He remained quiet as a few officers passed him and slipped into the room he had left, but Obi-Wan was hardly aware.

He studied the duracrete floor, trying to focus, his mind rushing with pain. He felt more than heard Qui-Gon approach him. Obi-Wan glanced up, ashamed at how damaged the man looked.

He had caused this imbalance in some way, this suffering. His mind was too raw, too dangerous for Qui-Gon to endure. Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon, swaying slightly by the lack of mental control. The Force overflowed between them. It was too much, too strong. Qui-Gon was used to it in someway, but Obi-Wan had gone so long with shields protecting himself from other minds that he did not know what to do. He felt Qui-Gon’s large hands close around his shoulders. The cold hall was empty of officers at the moment, through he could hear the others talking still in the empty room down the hall.

“What is this?” Obi-Wan whispered.

He swallowed again, flinching as Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly in pain. He could not trust himself to speak further. He felt dizzy, overwhelmed. He looked up through the discomfort, trying to focus on Qui-Gon who opened his eyes, regarding him blearily.

“I do not understand how it formed. Your mind…” the other Jedi trailed off, his Force presence teeming with a multitude of thoughts.

Obi-Wan would have questioned him further if a sharp movement where his shields once were didn’t prevent him from speaking for a few minutes. When it passed he was trembling.

“My mind is a weapon,” he spoke through gritted teeth, his hands curled into fists, more aware of Qui-Gon’s pain than his own, “I am hurting you. This cannot continue.”

He breathed rapidly though his nose, determined to stay in control. Qui-Gon’s touch still helped in that strange way. The man’s grip tightened slightly on his shoulders, Qui-Gon bending his head to look Obi-Wan in the eye.

“It is only because your shields are gone. They must have collapsed when you tried to warn me during the second bomb.” The man paused, an odd surge of pain jolting through them both so that they flinched. Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, his ribs aching with each half-drawn breath. Qui-Gon spoke abruptly into the tense silence,

“We must meditate, it is the only way to restore your shields.”

Obi-Wan bit his lip, feeling exposed.

“The Neimoidians …” he mumbled, but Qui-Gon shook his head.

“We cannot function this way.”

Gently, the older man slid his hand from Obi-Wan’s shoulder to the back of the man’s neck. Obi-Wan felt the touch as warm and almost liquid inside his mind. He closed his eyes, Qui-Gon’s forehead touched his own and Obi-Wan reached out to grip Qui-Gon’s upper arms, grounding himself as they both inhaled deeply and plunged into each others minds.

They allowed their emotions to merge, the feelings between them to fully form and at first it was so painful that Obi-Wan was unsure whose breath caught, whose hands were clenching hard enough to bruise. Something loosened somewhere and he felt the tension surrounding his mind lessen, the pain trickling away. Qui-Gon was still there, their minds touching against one another intimately, their Force presences only color and sound, swallowed in light.

They began to separate, Qui-Gon feeding Obi-Wan the energy and control he needed to pour into his shields. Some part of the man remained behind his shields but it wasn’t painful any longer. Everything was light and quietness, Obi-Wan aware of how gently Qui-Gon touched his mind, how careful they were with one another. The dizziness faded slowly, Obi-Wan could began to register the physical aches of the chase, his lesser needs for sleep and food, but those he pushed aside. He tentatively reached out and Qui-Gon’s mind responded.

They linked closely, their breath’s matched as they shared something more than memory, a sense of self, a focus between them. Qui-Gon’s mind felt warm, comforting, the man welcoming him in, surrounding him, his thoughts and emotions a swirling sense that held none of the pain that had been there before. Obi-Wan felt both awe and tired fear that whatever it was between them would once again consume him.

Qui-Gon’s reassurance relieved only some of the tension, the other matter of the Neimoidians returning to their minds. Like lightning they exchanged information, compared views, and filled in areas that had been muted by their own trauma. Obi-Wan felt his shields slip slightly and he rose them, Qui-Gon slid further from his mind, but was no less real.

He wasn’t sure who returned first to the cold hallway. His eyes were open, staring into the deep dark blue of Qui-Gon’s. The older man stepped back. He looked dazed and Obi-Wan felt his mind churning, but he could no longer make out each and every thought. His shields were rebuilt but he did not like how fragile they were, how they depended on Qui-Gon’s strength for the time being. Obi-Wan exhaled sharply, looking away.

“I suppose I am broken, after all,” he whispered grimly.

Qui-Gon’s eyes snapped towards his. Even without the pain there was still a closeness, a connection, the man’s thoughts no longer readable but warm, and protective. Qui-Gon reached out with a large hand and gently touched Obi-Wan’s bloodied jaw, his gaze deep and intimate.

“You are indestructible,” the older man murmured with a quiet firmness, and there was a sense of awe from him for their connection and for Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan stared hard at him, waiting for the feeling to fade but it did not, even when Qui-Gon looked away, his hand falling to his side.

‘I must speak with the Neimoidians,” Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan nodded and Qui-Gon tilted his head. His other hand was still cupping the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, his large fingers brushing lightly across the nape and Obi-wan’s padawan braid before retreating. They regarded one another and Obi-Wan was aware that something intrinsic about them had changed, the warmth of Qui-Gon lingering.

The older man stepped aside, limping slightly towards the door where Baniss-Ena and the other officers were arguing quietly about something. Obi-Wan watched him go, feeling as if a thread was connecting them, Qui-Gon’s mind still there, available the moment he lowered his shields.

He did not want to risk endangering the other Jedi again, he had already caused Qui-Gon pain through his own need to protect the man. And yet, their minds were void of any discomfort now, moving almost as some sort of ethereal machine, a part of Qui-Gon was essential to a part of him in a way that was both absurdly comforting and terrifying. Obi-Wan closed his eyes momentarily and when he opened them he was alone in the hallway.

Qui-Gon’s voice was now conferring with Baniss-Ena’s in the other room. He knew the man would have to go and talk to the Neimoidians while Obi-Wan informed the Council of the arrests and contacted the Duro Medcenter to determine if Virmu was still in a healing trace and if her condition was still stable. There was no time to adjust to the strange connection between his mind and Qui-Gon’s.

He wiped a trembling hand over his face, feeling dirt and blood stick to him. He was still cold and the lack of proper sleep was weighing on him. Obi-Wan struggled to remember when he had last ate but dismissed it and turned to mentally examining his body for injuries. His hip was badly bruised from something striking it and his arm bore a long scratch on it. His lungs hurt but he was unsure if that was from breathing fumes during the bombings or his cracked rib. Overall he was relatively unharmed besides the ache of his fatigued muscles.

Obi-Wan leaned back against the cold metal wall, exhausted and feeling anger simmer deep down at how little he knew of what had taken hold of him, of why Qui-Gon’s mind was so necessary. He hit the wall with the flat of his hand in a burst of anger, swearing under his breath. He had risked exposing his mind to another and had caused further destruction; he should have never lowered his shields, such closeness could only lead to darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...what does everyone think? 
> 
> i do want to say that Obi-Wan's anger about his mental connection with Qui-Gon has nothing to do with Qui-Gon and more to do with Obi-Wan's need for privacy and self-control. Obi-Wan is so used to being shielded that to feel someone else's mind is both overwhelming and frightening for him, and without any shields, it can be potentially dangerous for both him and Qui-Gon. 
> 
> also a reminder that 'The Company' is another term the Duros have for their government.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! i cannot believe i made you all wait a month for this chapter. it was by far the hardest chapter i have written for the fic and i think i rewrote it several times before i was happy with it. comments would be so appreciated!
> 
> also, just a reminder, we have one more chapter before i finish part one. i will need some time to brainstorm part two, but i don't want everyone having to wait another month. i'll let you know next update when i'll be starting part two, but it should still be in January. :) 
> 
> oh and in case you missed it, chapter art is up for chapter's seven and eight. my sister is an amazing artist and if you want to see more art by her check her out at quietoceanlove@deviantart.com

Qui-Gon felt muted anger, barely present and not his own. It was Obi-Wan, or a part of Obi-Wan, that was expressing it and that made it extremely difficult not to go back and talk to the other man. He was unsure if his presence was wanted at the moment. The pain that they had experienced lingered through memory. He knew instinctively it would not return, yet he sensed Obi-Wan’s reluctance and anger and felt it was better not to approach the man. As it was, he did not even fully know what the connection they had meant.

Qui-Gon was exhausted, his mind humming with the distant emotions of Obi-Wan’s fear and worry. There was no pain between them now but his mind felt different, scraped raw, his chest hurting almost as if he had held his breath for too long. He stumbled slightly as he left the Duro prison, ignoring the security officers who accompanied him and gave him furtive looks of concern. His leg was throbbing with pain but he was numb to that. It was the distant aching of his mind that caught his attention. It was not so much an ache resulting from the stress of the earlier mental pain, as much as a strange need.

Obi-Wan had left and was further away though Qui-Gon could still sense the barest presence of him, despite Obi-Wan’s shields being raised once more. Their minds were linked on a fundamental level at the moment, simultaneously draining and flooding him with energy to quickly for him to absorb. Qui-Gon drew a breath in slowly, determined to focus past the discomfort. He needed to discuss the thefts with the Neimoidians, but he was so tired that he felt only a powerful need to find Obi-Wan, to not move away from the man again until their minds were settled and they were able to speak about what had happened between them.

* * *

The bombings at shipyards 59 and 15 made it difficult to return to the Builder’s Hotel. Qui-Gon doubted that he would have been given instant access into the building if not for the Duro security officers he was with. His Jedi identification would have most likely allowed him in, but it would have taken more time than he was prepared to give.

As soon as they entered through the front doors a worried group of Duros approached them, choosing to direct most of their questions about the bombings to the officers. Qui-Gon supposed that he looked more like a victim of the explosions than a Jedi at the moment, his civilian clothes were torn in several places, and blood and ash stained his skin. He was limping heavily from the pain in his thigh and felt so exhausted that he did not know how he would make it through the upcoming discussion with the Neimoidians. Even the idea of having to dress in his Jedi tunics and wash the blood and dirt from him felt difficult to achieve. Qui-Gon bit his lip. He had given more Force energy than he should have to Obi-Wan, his body instinctively wanting to shut down into a deep meditation to restore what he could. But there wasn’t time, and Obi-Wan had needed strength more than he did, the younger Jedi had been dead on his feet, traumatized by the loss of his shields.

Qui-Gon paused outside the hotel’s turbolift, barely registering the officers near his side who had apparently deflected most of the anxious questions. The only presence that he was acutely aware of was Obi-Wan. The man’s mind was partially blocked, due to his shields, but there was some essence of him that remained, caught between both their minds. Qui-Gon frowned. The distress of Obi-Wan’s loss of shields had been overwhelming, more draining than the physical fight with Levet and Kiom. But it had been incredible in a way, to feel Obi-Wan so close, so much a part of him, to still feel that, but without pain now.

He did not know how to think about what was between him and Obi-Wan. The man’s mind moved against his in the way no other Jedi had. Obi-Wan felt like water, his thoughts and emotions not so clearly definable but there, seeping into everything.

Qui-Gon inhaled slowly, aware of his muscles shaking with fatigue, his lungs stinging faintly. He pushed his hair back from where it fell in his face, the smell of smoke lingering on his skin and clothing. He could smell it stronger here at the hotel where Levet had attempted to incapacitate him and the other Jedi the day before.

When the turbolift stopped on the floor his former quarters were on, Qui-Gon limped out, leading the officers down the narrow corridor, the dark metal walls gleaming with their reflections. They passed the room where Obi-Wan and Virmu had been staying, the carpeted floor still damp from water damage. Qui-Gon glanced at the sealed door. He hoped that there had been no complications with Virmu’s healing trance at the Duro Medcenter. If she did not wake soon, Obi-Wan and him would have to contact a Jedi healer.

His quarters at the Builder’s Hotel were dark and the sparse furniture had been moved around from where Duro security had scanned the area, looking for any hidden weapons after the attack on Virmu’s room. His bags, however, had been left untouched and Qui-Gon pulled out clothing. The Durosian officers waited in the main room as he went into the bathroom to attempt to return to some sort of presentable appearance. He glanced in the mirror along the wall, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small wry smile despite his exhaustion.

He looked almost as bad as he had after the slavers attacked a few days ago. His face was bruised, a contusion on one cheekbone spreading out almost to his eye and mouth. His loose hair was matted and stained with ash. His torn shirt hung on him and as he stripped the civilian clothing off he exposed more bruised skin. His left thigh was covered in an enormous bruise that was an impressive array of black and purple discoloration. Qui-Gon tested his weight on his leg lightly and confirmed that nothing had been broken, he was only battered. His back ached and he turned to glimpse a scrape between his shoulder blades, uncomfortable but nothing deep enough to worry him. He had no memory of getting the scrape but imagined it was most likely when Obi-Wan had pushed him out of the way of the last bomb and they had rolled away from the blast.

Qui-Gon cleaned the damage from his body as best he could, considering that he was tired enough that he could sleep upright if given the opportunity. He dressed in his Jedi tunics, forgoing his cloak and pulling his wet hair partly back. He clipped his lightsaber to his utility belt and exited into the main room. The Durosian officers straightened slightly at the sight of him in uniform and fell into step beside him as Qui-Gon left his quarters.

There was little need to speak and Qui-Gon followed the Durosian officers to the nearest shipyard, allowing them to handle the piloting of the small sleek ship they boarded to ferry him to the ninth city. It was unnecessary to still need Duro protection, but he could not blame Baniss-Ena for not wanting to take any chances. The betrayal of Levet and Kiom was disconcerting and he had no doubt that it would be difficult for the Duro population to accept what had happened.

A wide patch of the Duro Starshipwright Shipyard was silent, smoke still clogging the air, its residents reeling from the dual explosions. Qui-Gon frowned. He closed his eyes, sinking into the first level of meditation where he sat, strapped into a passenger seat in the back of the cockpit.

He could feel Obi-Wan even stronger in meditation, his mind quieting enough that the soft, liquid like feel of Obi-Wan’s Force presence lingered. The other man was shielded enough that there wasn’t the jarring closeness from before, but a subtle intimacy still remained. Qui-Gon explored the sensation carefully, unsure of what it even was. He had never felt this type of connection. He had shared a bond with Dooku, as a padawan, and had occasionally linked to other Jedi minds when needed to in times of danger, but never this way.

This link with Obi-Wan, if that was what it was, filled every part of him. It was a presence in its own right. It did not feel consuming though, not like earlier, when Obi-Wan’s unshielded power had slammed into him. Even then Obi-Wan had not meant to harm him, the younger man simply had no knowledge of how to control without shields.

It was a flaw of Virmu’s teaching and something that Qui-Gon considered addressing once she woke. However, the idea of speaking to Virmu made him uncomfortable. The spontaneous connection between Obi-Wan and him felt sacred. He did not want her to question it, to accuse Obi-Wan of causing it. He inhaled slowly, letting go of his surroundings, trying to trace the elusive connection to find its true origin.

He had felt close to Obi-Wan almost instantaneously. They worked well together and there was no mistaking the pull his mind felt when they were in contact. Obi-Wan trusted him enough to confide in him, but the pull had been there even before Obi-Wan spoke of his past. On the ship, before landing at Duro’s shipyard…he recalled suddenly Obi-Wan’s determined expression when the Trevsin pirates had captured them, his powerful reach for Qui-Gon through the Force…and Qui-Gon had reached back…

He opened his eyes, aware of the engines rumbling under him as the ship lifted, the Durosian officers talking quietly in the cockpit. The exhaustion was worse then before and Qui-Gon breathed in tightly, his large hands clenching slightly before deliberately loosening. His injuries weren’t severe, but he needed to be stronger and more aware. Though nervous, Neimoidians could be politically cunning. It was important that he remain focused.

Qui-Gon let his eyes close again. He bowed his head, reaching for the Force and attempting to heal what he could. He did not possess the healing skills that Jedi such as Virmu had, but he was capable of entering a light healing trance for a few minutes, it wouldn’t heal him completely but it would give him the energy he desperately needed to regain. Qui-Gon breathed in slowly, centering himself, his awareness of the soft voices of the Duros faded and his last present thought was of Obi-Wan and the way the man had looked at him in the cold hallway of the Duro prison.

* * *

It was hours later when Qui-Gon returned to the Duro Starshipwright Shipyard and entered the lodgings Obi-Wan and him now stayed at. The small main room was dark and very cold as the door slid back once he entered the room code. He recognized Obi-Wan only by the man’s silhouette in front of the large window that looked out at the ruined shipyards still smoldering in the distance. Smoke rose in plumes in the darkness, Obi-Wan watching the churning gray haze. As Qui-Gon stepped through the room’s entrance and the door slid shut behind him, the younger man turned his head slightly. The liquid feel of Obi-Wan’s mind was suddenly there, shielded but so very real, and despite the earlier pain that their mental contact had brought, Qui-Gon could not be afraid, not of this.

He stepped forward automatically, that deep unknown need propelling him to reach out for Obi-Wan, to draw nearer where the man stood, still, except for the slight trembling from either cold or exhaustion. He heard Obi-Wan inhale slightly and the sound of the other man gave Qui-Gon pause, astonished at how such a small noise affected him. He stopped a few steps into the room, aware of Obi-Wan’s mind humming with concealed emotion, tension visible in the dark shape of the man’s body. The anger and confusion was still there, buried but visible to Qui-Gon through the gleaming connection of their minds.

“The first explosion kicked off all the power to this part of the city,” Obi-Wan said suddenly, “they have generators running but it will be awhile before lighting and heating are at optimal standards.”

His voice gave nothing away, the low pitch of it stern and reserved as always.

Qui-Gon tilted his head, watching Obi-Wan’s silhouette move, the man reaching into his jacket pocket and snapping a small, rectangular device open. It was a simple foldable light. He set the object down on the small counter, tapping at the surface of it to increase the brightness. The lighting was still poor, but enough that they could see each other now.

Obi-Wan looked up over at him and Qui-Gon saw that the man had not washed the blood from his face, nor changed from his ripped clothing. Even in their sealed room the smell of charred metal was strong, the reminder of their frantic chase through the shipyard still present. Qui-Gon could sense that Obi-Wan’s shielding was strained, glimpses of pain, discomfort, and exhaustion sliding through their mental connection like shards of glass. The younger man’s gaze shifted away from Qui-Gon’s, his shields attempting to rise further.

“The Neimoidians?” he asked quietly.

Qui-Gon stepped froward, grateful in an odd way for their mission to distract him from the fluid hum of Obi-Wan’s mind. He felt again that strange powerful desire to reach for the younger man, to touch his cheek, to feel their minds meet once more.

“They have denied any knowledge of Levet and Kiom _stealing_ starships. They maintain that they were merely negotiating sales by buying the ships and then reselling them.”

Obi-Wan frowned. He crossed his arms, shoulders drawn up slightly, though Qui-Gon did not know if it was in defensiveness against the hum of the Force between them or the cold that caused the gesture.

“They must have known that no Duros would sell them ships without approval from the Duro government.”

Qui-Gon grimaced, recalling the unctuous Neimoidian he had spoken to.

“I’m sure they did. Their spokesperson was rather clever, if easily intimidated. He was aware that I knew he was lying, but it won’t matter to the Senate. The Neimoidians will most likely be fined and escape any real punishment.”

Obi-Wan stepped forward, his brow furrowed in thought.

“Who were they selling the ships to?”

Qui-Gon lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

“I’m not sure, various Outer Rim groups by the sound of it. It’s not technically illegal, provided that their cover story is believed and they were only reselling.”

Obi-Wan shook his head,

“I’ve spoken to the Council,” he said, abruptly switching topic.

Qui-Gon looked sharply at him, wondering if the man had told the Council about the connection between them but Obi-Wan crossed his arms, regarding the opposite wall.

“They consider the mission completed as the thieves have been caught. That was our defined mission perimeters. The Duros will have to resolve the issue with the Neimoidians through the courts, or appeal to the Senate.”

“I doubt that the Neimoidians will stay around for a court trial,” Qui-Gon pointed out, and it was Obi-Wan’s turn to shrug.

“I mentioned as much to the Council, but they were unconcerned.”

Qui-Gon nodded. They lapsed into silence, Obi-Wan turning his head, the shadows in the room painting strange bursts of light and darkness over his face. His ripped blue jacket hung partly open, exposing the brown shirt he wore beneath, stained with blood. his hands were clenched at his sides and Qui-Gon knew that the younger Jedi was cold and struggling to maintain composure. They had moved on little sleep and food the last few days, Obi-Wan had had even less than him and Qui-Gon felt an unbearable need to comfort the Jedi in some way, to care for the man. He bit his lip, looking at the ground, aware that that need had not remained hidden to Obi-Wan.

“I want to know what this connection is,” Obi-Wan said suddenly, his voice slightly rough in the darkness.

Qui-Gon looked up and caught the glint of Obi-Wan’s eyes, staring at him. He swallowed, torn suddenly at how to possibly explain what he could barely comprehend himself, though it had become clearer to him during his brief meditation.

“I –” he took a deep breath, looking away, “it appears that a bond has formed between us.”

Obi-Wan stepped back slightly, his eyes widening with surprise before narrowing. He studied Qui-Gon intently, his hands flexing slightly, the fingertips red with cold.

“That’s impossible,” he insisted, “I should not be capable of forming a master-apprentice bond.”

His face and voice did not betray his unhappiness at acknowledging his own limitations but the Force did and Qui-Gon wanted nothing more than to touch the man’s hand with his own and reassure him that he was not lacking for all the times Virmu had implied that he was. Obi-Wan looked up at him, his gaze unsure suddenly. Qui-Gon reached out mentally, tracing the edge of the bond with his mind, he felt Obi-Wan pull back, cautious, but Qui-Gon did not reach deeper, only lightly examined the pulsing Force connection between them, warm and fluid. He blinked.

“I do not believe this is a master-apprentice bond,” he whispered, awe rushing through him.

The bond gleamed and pulled with the connection of their very different minds. But it went far deeper than a padawan bond would have. It had formed so quickly, instead of the weeks, even months that it took for a bond to form between an apprentice and their master. A padawan bond could be broken carefully with little or no discomfort, but the idea of removing the bond he had with Obi-Wan was as harrowing as the thought of amputating one of his limbs. The bond, even when lightly touched, sparked with shared thoughts, anchoring them both. It held something he had never imagined, something he could not quite name.

“Then what is it?” Obi-Wan demanded, startling him from his reverie, the younger man’s gaze disconcerted and challenging.

Qui-Gon bent his head in concentration, his long hair falling over his shoulders,

“I am unsure. I have never encountered anything like it. The Force has connected us spontaneously in some way. I felt something earlier, but I did not realize…”

He inhaled slightly, feeling their bond suffuse him, Obi-Wan’s mind like water and air to him. It was so much more than what he had ever imagined with another Jedi. He did not know the Force could fill him like this, could freely open parts of his mind and connect him so closely to someone else. Obi-Wan’s eyes caught the faint light, their color a greenish-gray, his expression intent.

“What does this mean?” the younger man asked, and Qui-Gon sensed more than just confusion for their connection.

Obi-Wan had never had any type of bond, and now they were faced with something so much more than what Qui-Gon had thought possible between two Jedi, even considering the vast power of the Living Force.

“I do not know, it is likely the bond will work similar to master-apprentice bonds. We are able to sense one another’s emotions and should be able to mentally communicate,” Qui-Gon explained.

Obi-Wan frowned, biting down momentarily on his lower lip, the few feet separating them seeming an impossible distance.

“Is that what happens?” he questioned.

Qui-Gon glanced towards the large window, watching the smoke spilling in the darkness, aware of Obi-Wan’s confusion becoming concern that they would once again be dragged into something too immense to control.

“Yes,” he murmured.

Obi-Wan turned away abruptly, his movements controlled, his Force sense sharp with suppressed anger.

“This is dangerous. I nearly destroyed your mind today,” He stated.

He did not look at Qui-Gon, his trembling hands clenched once more, his jaw set. Qui-Gon shook his head, taking an aborted step forward.

“It was only because you could not shield, I’m sure with time –”

Obi-Wan whirled around, cutting him off with a vehement look.

“We don’t have time. The mission is completed and Master Virmu will wake from her trance in a matter of hours. When we return to Coruscant we will not see each other again.”

His turbulent emotions felt suddenly like weapons as Qui-Gon tried to comprehend the certainty that Obi-Wan would no longer be in his life. It was terrifying on a level that shocked him. Worse was Obi-Wan’s mind longing to separate, to put such distance between them.

“Is that what you want?” he whispered, aware of other emotions Obi-Wan had, stirring underneath the pain and anger that clung to reason. They were so hidden, even from him that he did not know what they were, only that they were there, the Force swamping with them as Obi-Wan shuddered.

It was difficult to keep looking at Obi-Wan who watched Qui-Gon intensely, his vibrant eyes a murky gray now, blood dried along his mouth and cheek and jaw. Obi-Wan sighed, pushing a hand through his untidy short hair.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he said, his voice rigidly calm, “You know the Council will assign us to new missions. I am not your padawan. I cannot keep contact with you.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, his mind sparking with thousands of thoughts and emotions.

“I do not think of you as my padawan,” he said.

Obi-Wan’s hands trembled at his sides, he frowned, stepping a half-step forward.

“Than what do you think of me as?” he asked intently.

Qui-Gon looked away, studying the floor and the darkness that seeped around them,

“I…” he broke off, his throat raw suddenly, afraid to speak further, “I feel...”

He shook his head again, at loss for words.

He did not want to lose Obi-Wan, he wanted the man by his side, but he could not understand why. Obi-Wan stepped forward, the Force flaring between them, Obi-Wan’s mind almost reaching, almost touching before retreating behind trembling shields.

“Are you in love with me?” the younger man whispered, his voice quiet and remarkably steady.

Qui-Gon looked up at him, Obi-Wan’s eyes were wide, his bloodstained jaw firm, the Force hummed with the sparks of barely realized thoughts, confusion and impossibilities. Qui-Gon stared at him, at this man who meant so much to him now. Was he?…did he?…

He reached for that connection between them, the bond that sang through every particle of his being. Had it always been there? Had he always been connected to the man? Had it just been hidden by Obi-Wan’s shields? Memory after memory rose of Obi-Wan turning to him in the short time that they’d known each other, asking him something, and it was only now, this question that made it all that much clearer. Qui-Gon felt suddenly as if he could not go on speaking calmly, his mind was racing, he inhaled shakily and was shocked to hear himself answer.

“Yes.” He looked at Obi-Wan again, dazed at the sudden overwhelming emotion that he knew now what to call. “I am.”

He heard Obi-Wan move in the shadows, felt the tension through their bond increase. Qui-Gon looked at the thin frame of the man, wary suddenly of the tightness of Obi-Wan’s face, the pure confusion that such a declaration had caused. The younger man crossed his arms again, shivering.

“Is it this bond? Is it making you feel this way?” Obi-Wan demanded suddenly.

A burst of anger pushed through Qui-Gon that Obi-Wan did not understand how he could feel such a way.

He stepped back, “I am not being _made_ to –”

He cut himself off.

Qui-Gon turned away, finding it suddenly very hard to look at Obi-Wan, at that stern face he knew only now that he wanted to touch, that smaller body that he knew only now that he wanted to hold. He stared instead at the dim shape of the computer in the darkness.

“I apologize, you are not obligated to feel the same,” he whispered.

He forced each word out, needing to prevent himself from searching for Obi-Wan through the Force. Such an action would not be welcome, not judging from the confusion still radiating through Obi-Wan, the tightly controlled emotions. Qui-Gon recognized anger again and felt lost. How had he so easily destroyed the friendship that they had?

Obi-Wan regarded Qui-Gon, his face almost invisible in the dark.

“I won’t endanger you.”

Qui-Gon blinked, swallowing.

“Obi-Wan, this bond is not meant to cause pain. What we have –”

“What we have is a connection between our minds, a connection that I should not have the ability to form. It is not safe,” Obi-Wan declared.

The anger had increased, Obi-Wan staring at him stonily. Qui-Gon shook his head, unsure of what to say.

“You don’t understand,” he whispered.

Obi-Wan tilted his head swiftly, his greenish eyes gleaming with building fury.

“What don’t I understand? If you think I am being noble by sacrificing my own feelings to protect you, you are mistaken. There is very real possibility that this could destroy us.”

“You know that is not the purpose of a bond,” Qui-Gon said without thinking, and Obi-Wan grimaced, the Force connection between them fluctuating with a strange hidden pain.

“And how would I know that?” Obi-Wan whispered tightly, “I cannot form bonds, I am too unstable.”

Qui-Gon sucked in a breath, tasting the scent of smoke in the room and the vivid anger that surged from Obi-Wan, loosely concealing something worried, something afraid and deeply protective.

“That is what the Council believes –”

“Don’t turn this into some sort of debate between you and the Council, I have destroyed minds before!” Obi-Wan hissed, stepping toward him in the dark, his eyes burning in his pale face.

“I won’t bring you into that oblivion!” he declared heatedly, his breath coming sharply from him, his whole body shaking, “I can’t.” his voice broke on the last two words.

Qui-Gon had seen the man cold with anger, shaken with panic, but never like this, he had never heard Obi-Wan raise his voice, or turn on him with such fury and sorrow.

“Obi-Wan –”

Obi-Wan shook his head, breathing heavily, the tension from his bruised face fading only to be replaced with bone-deep exhaustion.

“When I look at you, I know how you feel towards me,” he whispered, almost too low for Qui-Gon to hear, “but even if we weren’t Jedi I couldn’t risk hurting you.”

Qui-Gon ached to touch the other man’s shoulders, to gather Obi-Wan into his arms as he had when Obi-Wan had spoken of his past. Instead he kept his own voice soft, gentle.

“You will not hurt me.”

Obi-Wan lifted his head, the dim gleam of light in the room accenting his cheekbones, his small mouth and trembling hands.

“How can you be so sure?”

Qui-Gon blinked, regarding the younger man intently. Obi-Wan met his gaze openly. The anger was gone but tight shields had been pulled over the other Jedi, as strong as they were capable of being at the moment, leaving only faint impressions of what he was thinking.

“Because you don’t want to hurt me. Everything you have done is to protect me, even now.”

Qui-Gon inhaled slowly, attempting to calm his disordered mind, aware that his own emotions would reach Obi-Wan through the powerful bond they shared, shielded or not.

“I am sorry,” he murmured, “I did not realize that I…” _that I love you._

The words went unsaid, they could not be said. He had spent decades as a Jedi regulating his emotions, occasionally disobeying the code, but never like this. Never had Qui-Gon felt attraction that he could not dismiss, affection that he could not prevent. There were rumors of course that certain Jedi had disobeyed the mandate on attachments, but he had never remotely considered it. And now he was completely lost. Qui-Gon turned away, unable to look Obi-Wan in the eye, he heard the younger Jedi speak as if far away.

“We are Jedi. It is forbidden.”

The words were expected, but no less painful. Qui-Gon closed his eyes briefly, his mind desperately struggling to endure what he only now knew. He turned to face Obi-Wan, the man’s eyes sought his and Qui-Gon looked at him fully, aware that he could not allow himself such vulnerability again. Obi-Wan’s face was streaked with dirt and blood, his clothing stained and bedraggled. Qui-Gon thought he had never seen anyone so beautiful before.

“I understand,” he whispered softly and it was so much worse than he had imagined, accepting the separation that would come.

Obi-Wan stared at him, mind still faintly churning with confusion, disbelief. Qui-Gon looked away, speaking quietly and as calmly as he could.

“I do not know if we could break the bond ourselves, it is already very strong and neither one of us are skilled in Force healing if something were to go wrong. The Council would be able to break it, but until then…” he took a deep breath, looking at Obi-Wan who remained unmoving, “it is possible that I could block it. We would not feel each other’s minds. We would not be able to sense the other at all.”

Obi-Wan frowned,

“It would drain you to do so and…” he paused, glancing away momentarily, “I know it’s important to you,” he finished quietly.

Qui-Gon swallowed. He could feel Obi-Wan’s mind distantly through the man’s shields but so real, as vital as air to him. The man’s low voice, his steady gaze, everything about him drew Qui-Gon in, but it was not…

Qui-Gon exhaled heavily,

“It is. But the bond formed without your consent, you did not have a choice in this.”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed at the older Jedi’s wording.

“It isn’t like that. Neither one of us knew about it.” Obi-Wan told him quietly, but Qui-Gon shook his head.

It was pointless to argue over the bond any longer. He knew what he would choose now, but it was irrelevant. Obi-Wan’s wellbeing was more important than how he felt. He looked at Obi-Wan, projecting whatever calm he could.

“Do you want me to block the bond until we reach the Temple?”

A confusing whirl of the Force came from Obi-Wan, his shields lowering slightly and Qui-Gon again felt that deep longing, aware only now as he would cut himself from it, what it was. For a long moment Obi-Wan said nothing, then he nodded. Qui-Gon stepped froward and Obi-Wan approached him. He doubted they needed to touch now to enter each other’s minds, so connected were they, but it was essential, the longing almost unbearable and Obi-Wan’s cold hands on his forearms both weakened and strengthened Qui-Gon’s resolve.

“Don’t let me hurt you,” he heard Obi-Wan whisper just before their foreheads touched, their minds meeting.

It was different than before, than anything had ever been, Qui-Gon felt as if his very soul was being separated, atom by atom, the matter of him merging with Obi-Wan. The lack of pain between their minds only fueled the continuation and before they could move away there was a light building, Obi-Wan’s mind washing over his own. Qui-Gon did not know where he was, whose body he belonged to, but he felt Obi-Wan's loneliness, his fear and anger, his shame over not banishing such un-jedilike emotions.

A friendless childhood merging into the confusion of being chosen and still feeling unwanted by his master. Then the brutal time of enslavement that was riddled with lost areas of memory. It was a jumble of terror and pain, a fight to survive, to keep trying, eventually broken into a numb acknowledgement of what he would become until finally it lingered on the cusp of absolute darkness, the certainty that death was the only escape. The death of those who attempted to take his battered body, the death of himself, and afterward, the wild, horrible guilt and rage and terror that reduced him to uncontrollable panic. He shuddered with brokeness until his mind was wrenched open and death came for him and again it did not exist. Again he awoke, unaware of the pain he had endured, until memory returned, murky, terrifying, and unequivocally reminding him that he was a danger to others. Even now, he knew only the memories of what he had done when cornered and how he returned to that moment in each battle.

The aching pain was so much that Qui-Gon felt overburdened with it, unable to do anything else but reach out and pull Obi-Wan’s mind into the warmth of his own. He embraced and covered what he could, offering comfort that was so needed and so unfamiliar to Obi-Wan, all thoughts of blocking the bond gone. He felt again disbelief from Obi-Wan and a deep weariness,

 _How can you feel all of this for me? I did terrible things_ , Obi-Wan’s mind whispered to him, the sensation of voice strange and compelling all at once.

Automatically Qui-Gon sought to reassure, even as he was shocked all over by the raw power of Obi-Wan’s mind, every element of the younger man gleaming with the Force. They were hardly the same, their minds so different, but so in tune that Qui-Gon could not imagine them as separate at the moment.

_That does not make you a terrible person._

And beneath all that, the warmth of him cried out his love; this mix of devotion and care and unexpectedly, Obi-Wan reached for him and the man’s own mind opened further than Qui-Gon had ever felt and there at the root of the man’s mind rose the same emotions. Deep protectiveness over Qui-Gon, absolute trust in the man, concern that he would bring harm to him in some way, shy desire to touch the man’s face…it radiated from Obi-Wan, racing through their shared thoughts. Qui-Gon gasped, the bond encompassing their minds, crashing through them.

_I care for you, I trust you, I desire you, I love you, I love you, I love you._

And still there was Obi-Wan’s complete shock that he could be loved, that he had the ability to love. That more than anything else brought the most sorrow to Qui-Gon, sadness blooming through their minds. The Force churned with his own anger at what had been done to Obi-Wan, his own helplessness to lessen the pain, his powerful need to see Obi-Wan happy, to know the man was content, whatever came of their bond.

_I wish to take your pain from you._

He was not sure who thought it, or who felt it stronger. They were both so desperate to protect one another. Obi-Wan’s fear was returning, the worry that such deep connection between their minds would hurt Qui-Gon, but Qui-Gon reached for him.

_Look into me, look into my mind and know that I am with you. What happened earlier, that is not what we have between us._

He was imploring, aching to erase the fear that Obi-Wan had, the panic that they would fall too deep into something unsafe.

_You are not what others say you are. You are not meant to suffer or be punished for what you did to survive. I am with you. I choose to be with you._

And Obi-Wan’s mind met his, swift and overpowering, the Force flooding Qui-Gon with sudden emotion held back for so long, barely on the edge of control.

_If I can have this…_

The thought was incongruously hesitant, Obi-Wan’s mind stroking over his own.

_If this is what we have, then we cannot let them separate us._

Qui-Gon’s mind touched against Obi-Wan’s Force presence, aware of jagged edges, of dark areas left empty, but above all aware of the light and strength of Obi-Wan’s mind. A sensation he had never felt before rose in him, he felt welcome, at peace. There was no need to wander the galaxy, to look for something missing as he had done his entire life. This was it. This was what he needed, what Obi-Wan needed and he knew that the Council would prevent them from ever seeing each other again, if they knew.

Attachments were forbidden, but this was more than attraction or desire, though those elements were there. This was him and Obi-Wan, their minds connected by a remarkable bond, every part of them displayed for the other, their flaws and their accomplishments. Their admiration for the other and their blurred view of their own self. It was almost a language, exchanged without sound or words and Qui-Gon felt a sense of unity he’d never felt before, aware only of Obi-Wan surrounding him, a powerful ocean pulling against him.

_We would be disobeying not only the Council, but all of Jedi law._

Again he was not sure whom the thought came from but Obi-Wan’s mind surged with sudden defiance, a blinding blue color beneath Qui-Gon’s lids.

_If anything has my loyalty, it is you._

They were buried in each other’s minds, the immense power of Obi-Wan stabilized by the control of Qui-Gon. They were one glorious Force presence, and he felt Obi-Wan reach for him. He met the man’s mind, touching it, feeling deep exhaustion at the root of them both, pulling at them, making it clear that they could not remain in such closeness for much longer.

There was a pause between their connection and then the mind voice of Obi-Wan whispered,

_You see, I am also with you._

***

Qui-Gon was unclear how much time had passed, when he opened his eyes Obi-Wan was staring at him. Qui-Gon lifted his head, feeling exhaustion crash over them, his injured leg throbbing. Concern came and Qui-Gon inhaled, realizing it was from Obi-Wan, that the man was freely expressing such emotion through their bond. The pain was rebounding now to him and he was overwhelmingly aware that Obi-Wan was injured as well. He reached out, touching the side of Obi-Wan’s face. The skin was cold beneath his fingers, the bloodstained jaw slightly unshaven. Obi-Wan looked up at him, his eyes wide. In the shadows he looked somehow both younger and older. His lips were slightly parted, he was breathing tightly and the odd jumble of emotion through the Force made it clear he was near panicking. Qui-Gon dropped his hand, reaching out to touch Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

_Obi-Wan._

The mindspeech came automatically to him and Obi-Wan blinked, Qui-Gon sensing his awe over the ease of which they communicated silently, having never had such closeness before. Even in powerful master-apprentice bonds, Qui-Gon did not think Jedi were able to communicate so effortlessly, so quickly. But what they had was different, and Obi-Wan looked intently at him, his remarkable eyes gleaming in the near darkness.

The young man was breathing rapidly, his hands flexing at his side, his limbs trembling. He turned his head slightly, stepping forward. Shakily, he let his head fall, resting it tentatively on Qui-Gon’s shoulder. He turned his face into the older Jedi’s neck, seeking the comfort that he desperately needed and did not know how to ask for. Instinctively, Qui-gon’s arms surrounded the smaller frame, holding Obi-Wan to him.

The man’s breaths were quick against his skin, his body shivering with cold and emotion always withheld. Qui-Gon reached automatically to tenderly run his large fingers through the man’s short reddish hair. It was stiff with dried blood in areas, dark with ash. He could smell smoke from the explosions on Obi-Wan. There was something powerfully and indescribably right about how Obi-Wan fit inside his arms. That deep longing rose through their bond and Obi-Wan shifted closer.

Qui-Gon could now register the source of the other Jedi’s pain. He moved his palm to Obi-Wan’s ribs, touching the area very lightly. He sensed Obi-Wan’s mind try to instinctively conceal the pain before stopping and letting Qui-Gon touch the area, tracing through the Force for injury. He could feel the slight fracture to one of the younger man’s ribs, the area slightly swollen and bruised.

For a long time he stood there, holding Obi-Wan, unable to let go of the younger man who leaned into his embrace, Obi-Wan still unsure how to reciprocate, his mind reaching for Qui-Gon’s. The younger man’s mind was slightly shielded, still hesitant but it was there. Qui-Gon rested his palm on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, concerned at the chill of Obi-Wan’s skin. The man lifted his head suddenly. There was something unbearably vulnerable in the man’s stern gaze before he reached out, trailing cold scarred fingers along Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

Qui-Gon’s eyes closed as he felt Obi-Wan’s touch move upwards. Fingers ghosted over Qui-Gon’s throat and he withheld a shiver, confused at how the simplicity of that gesture caused warmth to rise in his chest. Obi-Wan’s touch was cautious and curious. His slender fingers moved along Qui-Gon’s jaw, the textured surface of his beard, his cheekbone that was still bruised from the chase earlier. Qui-Gon opened his eyes as Obi-Wan’s hand came, sliding into the older man’s thick graying hair, pressing lightly against the side of Qui-Gon’s neck.

This had not been done before. This motion for either one of them, Obi-Wan’s head lifting, Qui-Gon’s tilting downwards. When their lips met it was as if quietness had gathered over the Force, the whole universe holding its breath. The brush of Obi-Wan’s mouth was brief, barely there before the other Jedi pulled back, his breath mingling with Qui-Gon’s,

“I’m so aware of you,” Obi-Wan murmured, his low voice trembled, his accent thicker, richer in a way Qui-Gon had never heard before.

Obi-Wan’s mind reached fully for him behind his shields and it was like looking at a bright light or an endless ocean and Qui-Gon felt stranded in the presence of so much that hummed throughout the Force and touched something deep within him. Their lips brushed again, Obi-Wan whispering something against his mouth before the younger man tilted his head, kissing him more firmly. Automatically one of Qui-Gon’s hands came to cradle Obi-Wan’s face, cupping the man’s jaw as his other hand splayed against the younger man’s back. He was aware of the thin strength of Obi-Wan’s smaller body, the way the man’s breath caught slightly, how his lips tasted faintly of blood and water, the smell of smoke lingering on Obi-Wan’s clothes and skin. The younger Jedi’s mouth opened beneath his own, the kiss deepening as the Force surged between their minds.

Shivering hands gripped Qui-Gon’s shoulders, a small sound escaping the younger man, the bond escalating the longing beneath them to erase all pain, all loneliness. The taste of Obi-Wan’s mouth, the sensation of their tongues touching for the first time, it was electrifying and powerful and beneath it all their minds hummed with the Force bond surrounding them, wordless under the press of so much emotion. Love, desire, trust, loyalty in the face of everything that stood between them and against them. The knowledge that they would die for one another, that they feared above all else harm coming to the other, and the separation that the Council and Virmu would insist on.

Obi-Wan drew back slightly, breath coming from him slowly. His hands were fisted in the thin layers of Qui-Gon’s tunic, his gaze intense. They looked at one another. There was nothing to say. They were caught in something more than they had ever known existed, something powerful and permanent.

The room was growing darker, the small light device Obi-Wan had turned on was finally losing its charge. Qui-Gon watched silently as the man’s face faded into only a shape and then only darkness, empty except for the press of Obi-Wan’s strong slender fingers, his cold hand taking Qui-Gon’s and holding unto it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it begins.... i spent a lot of time wondering if i was rushing this, and i'd like to know as readers what you think? also for people who aren't into slash, sorry but this is obi/qui, so that element will be there. again, i will let people know with warnings and all if i'm going to write a sex scene, but i hope that most people are happy with this new development. :)
> 
> i almost wrote the whole scene of Qui-Gon talking to the neimoidians but then decided that it wasn't necessary and it was more important for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to come to some sort of decision about their bond before Virmu woke up and shit hit the fan.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! i'm so excited to present to you the final chapter of part one! i'm starting part two on the 25th of January and then with any luck I'll update every two weeks. :) I've planned out my outline for part two so System of Darkness should be done by late May, early June. which is incredible to think of as i started this fic in late july last year. but anyway...i do apologize for being a few days late on updating, in between tearing cartilage in my knee, fighting with my insurance company, having my dog die and losing electricity i have had a rough last two weeks. but i'm getting better and i'm excited that this journey with all you obi/qui fans is just beginning. i love all you guys, your comments seriously make my days so great and inspire me to keep writing, so please let me know what you think of this chapter :)

It was not quite what he had thought or what he expected, this bond. It both took and gave, moving in an endless flurry through thoughts and emotions. Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon’s mind come in contact with his own again and again, the older man’s presence like a soft heat, warming Obi-Wan’s insides while the rest of him shivered from the cold.

With shields, Obi-Wan could prevent the sensations from becoming too overwhelming, but he could not force the bond into silence. He no longer wished to and fear rose instead in him. He did not want the Council to destroy the bond, to separate him from Qui-Gon without allowing him to at least explain what he could. Unfortunately, much about their bond was still a mystery to Obi-Wan. He did not know how or when it had exactly formed, why it was so strong, and why his mind welcomed Qui-Gon’s when always before the thought of touching another mind had been painful and dangerous. Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head, he did not know how he would begin to explain the matter to Virmu.

The lights flickered slightly and Obi-Wan glanced up warily, wondering if they would lose power again. The flickering stopped though and Obi-Wan turned away. The hotel’s generator system had restored lighting but the heat was kept low to conserve energy. What was moderately cold for Duros, felt severely cold to Obi-Wan, but he accepted it. They had been lucky that the explosions at shipyards 59 and 15 had only damaged the power grids and not the artificial atmosphere. Though there were emergency reinforcements that kept the shipyard atmosphere protected, there was no denying that there were dangers to living in space.

Despite the shortages, water was still available and Obi-Wan was able to take a shower, enduring the cold spray as he scrubbed the ash and blood from his pale skin. The icy water would ultimately help the swelling of his fractured rib anyway, he concluded. Still, he kept his time under the water short, knowing that too much exposure to cold would weaken him. Obi-Wan brushed a towel over his hair as he stepped out of the shower and stood, naked and wet in the cold bathroom. He ignored the clouds of air visible at each release of breath. The temperature was still bearable. He raked fingers through his hair and was slightly startled to feel a few pieces laying flat. He had not realized that it had been so long since his last haircut.

Something fluttered on the edges of his mind and Obi-Wan paused, trying to adjust to that unusual feeling of Qui-Gon’s own thoughts as the man moved in the main room. Obi-Wan stood still, concentrating, aware that Qui-Gon was preparing some sort of food. The man’s thoughts were opaque but with practice and focus Obi-Wan would be able to easily read them. However, he avoided delving deeper into the bond, respecting the elements of distance between them even as he was growing to cherish the closeness. It was enough for him to feel the warm presence of Qui-Gon, to know that the man was nearby. Worry rose inside him at the ever-present knowledge that their time together was drawing to a close and would end before it truly begin. Obi-Wan bit his lip, looking away.

He pulled his now dry clothing from the clothes cycle unit. The shirt and pants were ripped but no longer stained with dirt and blood. He tugged them on, wincing faintly as his hand brushed against his rib. He probed the area lightly, it was still sore, but not as painful. The cold water had helped. Shivering, Obi-Wan drew his jacket on over his brown shirt. He flexed numb fingers. It was still too cold for him and he exited into the bedroom, pulling a thin dark green blanket from the large bed and draping it over his shoulders and torso for extra warmth.

When he came into the main area Qui-Gon was standing near the small table, steam rising from the plates of food, his brow furrowed as he regarded the cycling screens of the computer. Obi-Wan studied him for a moment watching how the blue light from the computer contrasted with the bright light of the room, washing over Qui-Gon and emphasizing the lines on his face that were more from exhaustion than age. Obi-Wan strode to the man, pausing by his shoulder to examine the rotating screens. He looked inquiringly up at Qui-Gon, realizing that the man was searching the holonets for recent information about the Duro thefts.

“They’ve chosen not to release a statement yet about Levet and Kiom being behind the thefts,” Qui-Gon said in his calm melodic voice, “I imagine they’ll announce it in a few hours. Duro Government did report a half-hour ago that the bombings were linked to the thieves, who have been arrested.”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“There are too many witnesses, there’s no way they can keep Levet and Kiom’s identities quiet for long.”

Qui-Gon nodded thoughtfully, he looked over at Obi-Wan, half-turning so they could face one another. A small smile touched the man’s mouth as he gazed at Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan could sense that despite the dangers that they had endured over the last few days, Qui-Gon was content and pleased to be at his side.

“We should eat,” the man said softly and Obi-Wan nodded.

They sat down at the small table, Qui-Gon pushing Obi-Wan’s plate towards him. Obi-Wan paused before accepting the plate. He felt suddenly unsure. He had rarely eaten a meal with another person unless it was required at a political function. He had hardly even spoken to another Jedi unless Virmu was present. She had not allowed him the freedom other padawans had and had kept him dutifully filling out reports and continuing his solitary studies whenever they had been at the temple. Obi-Wan had never been too troubled by being alone, but he wished now that he had had more time to learn how to interact with others. It was not difficult for him to research planetary conflicts, to help negotiate peace talks, to fight alongside another Jedi, but cohabitation was awkward for him when he was so used to being alone or under Virmu’s stern tutelage.

He glanced over at Qui-Gon, feeling a strange sensation again at the sight of the man’s handsome face, bent forward, his large hands resting on the table as they ate. He did not know what to call the feeling but he supposed it was happiness, a sort of warmth and peace. A bittersweet longing rose in Obi-Wan, the need to always watch Qui-Gon, to not be parted. He pushed that aside but felt Qui-Gon pause and look at him. Obi-Wan glanced away. He was still so new to this openness, this awareness that he could love, that someone loved him. It was not the Jedi way but that hardly mattered, not when he felt Qui-Gon’s hand brush lightly against his arm at the small table they sat at, the older man’s eyes a vivid dark blue.

Obi-Wan reached for his utensils. He ate food mechanically, knowing he needed to regain energy that had been rapidly depleted under the stress of losing his shields earlier. Through the Force, Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon’s concern at his lack of appetite after having gone so long without food.

“You aren’t hungry?” Qui-Gon asked, his low soft voice clear in the small area.

Obi-Wan looked up at him, aware all over again at how lost he was in what the older man meant to him. He wanted powerfully for this time to not end, to not always be aware that Virmu would wake in the morning and that in a few days time they would be separated. He did not know what would happen to their bond. It seemed unlikely that the Council would not notice. Not when it felt so much a part of them both.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully and sensed Qui-Gon’s confusion.

Obi-Wan looked down at his plate, at the food that still had to be eaten. He swallowed but continued speaking, pushing past the discomfort of openly mentioning the past, of acknowledging another weakness.

“Slaves had to fight for food. I couldn’t risk becoming too injured, I chose to wait until the others were done. Sometimes there were scraps that were lost in the dirt during the fighting. I ate those when I had to but there was never much…it didn’t really matter anyway. I lost any interest in food by the second week.”

A churning wave of protectiveness, anger, and concern welled through their bond but when Qui-Gon spoke he was calm, his eyes never leaving Obi-Wan’s.

“And now?” he asked.

Obi-Wan shrugged.

“Virmu is Grelian, they need very little food. It has never occurred to her to regulate her eating habits to human ways.”

He continued eating. He could taste the flavor and texture of food but it held no appeal and he felt only an odd sense of relief when he finished. Qui-Gon was still watching him intently, his gaze troubled.

“You should eat more often,” he finally said.

Obi-Wan blinked, confused at the multitude of emotions that Qui-Gon was experiencing at the moment. Their thoughts were still concealed on some level, but he gained impressions of concern, fear, anger, love, and curiosity mixed in with other emotions that were harder to name or understand.

“I am not accustom to it,” he answered quietly, and Qui-Gon frowned slightly.

“I hope that changes,” the man murmured and his mind sung with that strange worry.

Obi-Wan considered the matter. He knew he was thin, that his body frame was built to hold more weight and muscle than he had, but he also knew he was not that far below average weight for his height. He did not know if he could eat regular meals everyday. Food held no enjoyment to him and the thought of being full was unnerving. He frowned slightly at the muted distress searing inside him, confused at his own anxiety. There was no reason why he couldn’t eat more except that he often found it simpler to follow Virmu’s decisions rather then face her irritation when he challenged her.

Qui-Gon reached out, touching Obi-Wan’s wrist lightly, Obi-Wan sensing more clearly his emotions. Admiration and regard for Obi-Wan was mixed with concern, worry, and bitterness towards Virmu. Obi-Wan looked at him steadily.

“You dislike my master,” he stated and Qui-Gon sighed, looking away.

“Yes,” the man replied.

There was no other way to phrase the emotions Qui-Gon held towards Virmu, the bond making any secrecy transparent.

“I cannot forgive her or the Council for what they did to you,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan tilted his head, looking down at the table. He shifted his hand and laced their fingers together.

“It is done.”

“It still affects you,” Qui-Gon pointed out quietly.

Obi-Wan lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug, releasing the man’s hand. Qui-Gon finished his food and tea, standing and gathering dishes. Obi-Wan was surprised, yet pleased when Qui-Gon bent down to kiss the top of the younger man’s still damp hair before turning back to clearing the table. Obi-Wan moved to help but Qui-Gon gestured him to remain sitting and Obi-Wan did, tucking the blanket draped around him closer against the cold.

Obi-Wan watched Qui-Gon move around the room. The man’s Jedi tunics hung loosely on his trim frame, any stiffness from the fabric worn out over numerous missions. His hair was pulled partially back and Obi-Wan thought he looked different. He had grown so used to seeing Qui-Gon in civilian clothing. Obi-Wan glanced toward the window, smoke was no longer as visible now that the shipyard lights had been restored. Obi-Wan studied the outside, wondering how long the heat shortage would last. No doubt Baniss-Ena and the other Duro officers were out there, working to keep the situation calm. A thread of nervousness wound through Obi-Wan but he dismissed it. There was no point on dwelling on the tensions still left unresolved between the Duros and Nemoidans. Their mission was complete.

He frowned slightly, wondering what Virmu would think when she awoke. The thought of that sparked more unease. He did not know how to tell her what he had with Qui-Gon. The bond alone was impossible to explain, but the way they felt for each other…that would not be allowed. He swallowed past the hollow feeling in his chest, standing and moving towards the window. He stood there a long time looking out at the faint lights. Obi-Wan shivered, his breath clouding the window glass. He was cold, even with the blanket wrapped around him. He sensed Qui-Gon approach him, his tall build moving with that smooth grace that Obi-Wan admired, stopping at the smaller man’s side.

“We must get some rest,” Qui-Gon remarked, and Obi-Wan nodded, not looking at the man.

A strange pain bloomed in his stomach and lungs. He did not want to sleep, even if he needed it. He did not want to waste their time together, not when Virmu would wake in hours. There would be no guarantee that they would be able to be alone on the return trip, and when they reached Coruscant…he withheld a sigh, sensing the fatigue between them, dragging through their bond. Qui-Gon touched his shoulder lightly and Obi-Wan looked up at him, still unused to being touched voluntarily, to wanting that contact with someone else.

The man’s eyes were a dark glorious blue and Obi-Wan closed the short distance between them without thinking, his head tilting upwards to take Qui-Gon’s mouth. The bond gleamed between them, Qui-Gon framing his face with large trembling hands, drawing Obi-Wan nearer as they kissed. Obi-Wan stroked a hand through the man’s long thick hair, strands catching lightly against his fingers as he explored the other Jedi’s lips, then open mouth. When they separated Obi-Wan rested his head against Qui-Gon’s chest, feeling the warmth of the other man seeping into him. Qui-Gon touched the back of Obi-Wan’s shoulder, fingers ghosting along his padawan braid before trailing over the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck. They did not speak further, the bond making words unnecessary. It was as if he were guiding and being guided at the same time, Obi-Wan thought, this connection between them that brought their hands and lips together once more.

They went into the bedroom, the room even colder than the main area so that Obi-Wan shivered, his limbs aching. Qui-Gon reached for him, embracing him and flooding their bond with warmth. They stood there in the dark room, faint light from the bathroom shining on the edges of them. Qui-Gon’s hand slid through his hair, brought his face close again.

It was inevitable that Jedi at the temple would defy the law of attachments and though it was not spoken of Obi-Wan knew realistically that there had to be a few Jedi who had relationships outside the Temple and kept it hidden from the Council. Before, he had not understood the reasoning behind such defiance. It was not worth expulsion from the Order for something that could not last. But now as Obi-Wan felt the press of Qui-Gon’s thin lips, the rich openness of his mouth, the soft texture of his beard rubbing against Obi-Wan’s jaw, he could understand why losing everything would be worth it.

He sensed Qui-Gon’s own happiness, the way the man felt when kissing him, a wild beauty filling them, spilling over into their bond. Obi-Wan finally pulled away, his breath quick, his lips tingling. Qui-Gon tilted his head. They looked at one another.

Again, words were unnecessary as they removed their boots, Obi-Wan pulling the blanket off around him and laying it on the bed. He slid his torn blue jacket off. His brown long sleeve shirt underneath felt insubstantial against the cold and he shuddered at the icy press of sheets and blankets as he crawled into bed, Qui-Gon following him.

It was too dark to see the other man and Obi-Wan reached out, touching Qui-Gon’s tunic sleeve. They were both fully dressed. It didn’t make sense to discard more layers when the room was still so cold. Obi-Wan supposed he should feel nervous being so close to someone in the dark. He had never lain near anyone like this. But fear was absent and desire had not yet formed. He was overwhelmingly tired, exhausted from the strain of their mission. He shifted, settling carefully on his bruised rib. Qui-Gon lay on his side as well, facing Obi-Wan, and in the very faint light Obi-Wan glimpsed the curve of the man’s ear, the shine of silver in his brown hair, the gleam of color in his eyes.

“Rest,” Qui-Gon said softly, reaching out and trailing fingers down Obi-Wan’s jaw, his hand warm against Obi-Wan’s cold skin.

Even in the chilled room the blankets grew warmer by Qui-Gon’s regulated body temperature. Obi-Wan blinked, fingers tightening on the sheets. He felt that overwhelming loss all over again. He did not want to let Qui-Gon go. It had been less then an hour since Qui-Gon had said the same to him. _I don’t want to lose you._ And Obi-Wan had denied the man’s plea at first. He had resisted the pull of the mysterious bond they had and hid his fear in anger, knowing that if he allowed their minds to meet fully he would give in to the overpowering need to hold and be held. He depended on Qui-Gon more than he thought he ever would with anyone and the man depended on him as well. He could not lose that, not now.

Obi-Wan watched the shape of Qui-Gon in the dark, unable to fight the weight of sleep, but not wanting to let the few hours they had slip away. He reached out, touching Qui-Gon’s shoulder, trailing it down to splay his fingers over the man’s broad chest, needing to hear Qui-Gon’s heartbeat near him; the Force whispered between them as love and exhaustion tugged between their bond. He knew Qui-Gon was smiling, the man resting a strong palm over Obi-Wan’s hand. A rush of warmth pushed through their bond and Obi-Wan reluctantly gave into sleep.

* * *

He woke sometime very early. Obi-Wan lay still, unsure at the contentment sinking into his bones. He normally slept fitfully and awoke tense, instantly alert. Now soft warmth enveloped him, spreading through his limbs and seeping into his skin. He blinked, aware that he had rolled over unto his other side during the night and Qui-Gon had moved closer, the bond humming blissfully between them. Qui-Gon now lay against the younger Jedi’s back, the taller man’s arm wrapped around Obi-Wan’s chest under the blankets. Qui-Gon’s cheek and jaw rested against the top of Obi-Wan’s head, slow deep breathing stirring the young man’s hair.

Their bond gleamed with a newfound tranquility, a quiet joy that was almost painful. Obi-Wan lie still, shocked at the lack of cold. Qui-Gon’s body heat and the warmth of the man’s mind seemed to drive away the iciness that had always persisted. This unusual closeness while sleeping was strange but it felt right, as it had felt right to kiss the man. Obi-Wan bit his lip. He did not want to lose this. He did not want to have to leave this bed and make the decision on what to say to Virmu. He did not want to kiss Qui-Gon goodbye and go on without him. A painful ache began in his throat. He had served the Jedi Order with what loyalty he had after his enslavement, and had never asked for anything from them. But now he felt resentment to anyone who would deny him the simplicity and complexity of loving another or prevent him from sharing such a powerful bond and the pleasure of kissing Qui-Gon, of waking in Qui-Gon’s arms. All of this was wanted and needed fiercely by him. Just to be with Qui-Gon was enough. And more than he would ever be allowed to have.

He felt Qui-Gon shift, waking to sudden awareness as all Jedi did. The man did not move, merely tightened his grip slightly. How many more hours did they have before Virmu awoke and they returned to Coruscant? How many before they would be separated, perhaps forever? The thoughts reverberated through their bond. Qui-Gon’s jaw moved and Obi-Wan felt the whisper of breath, the man pressing a kiss into his short untidy hair. Emotions flew between their minds. A need for comfort, so long denied to Obi-Wan, desire that was foreign to them both but beginning to form, fear of separation, regret that there was no time, concern about who would take care of the other when they were not there. And underneath and above and inside all of that emotion, something else came and Obi-Wan knew inexplicably that it was love that touched them both now, always reaching for them, burning into them and continuously forging their bond into something stronger and purer than it had been before.

A sudden beeping came, Obi-Wan rolling over instinctively even as Qui-Gon pulled back, sliding off the bed and rising up, moving from the room to answer his comlink that he had left in the main room. Obi-Wan lay still for a moment, hearing Qui-Gon’s low voice answer calmly. A spike of something, apprehension or dread wound through their bond in the brief minute that passed and Obi-Wan sat up. He pulled the dark green blanket over his rumpled clothes, walking into the main area, his bare feet stinging at the coldness of the floor. Qui-Gon was turned away, the man’s unique profile clear against the dim murky light from distant shipyards outside.

“You are sure of this?” Qui-Gon asked swiftly, and Obi-Wan looked up sharply at the tension in Qui-Gon's voice.

Something rapid and dark was pulsing through their bond, fear and concern propelling it. Obi-Wan stepped closer, shrugging the blanket off and watching Qui-Gon intently as the man abruptly clicked off the comlink.

“What is it?” Obi-Wan demanded at once and Qui-Gon looked at him.

In the dim light from outside the older man’s face was drawn, grim with seriousness.

“Baniss-Ena has just informed me that the Trevsins have escaped.”

Obi-Wan inhaled tightly, biting his bottom lip momentarily before clenching his jaw. His fingers flexed at his side, but he kept his face and voice calm, almost expressionless.

“When?” he asked, and Qui-Gon shook his head, moving quickly into the dark bedroom, Obi-Wan following him.

“An hour ago. Security were just alerted from the Medcenter.”

Obi-Wan froze.

“Virmu,” he said quietly.

Qui-Gon looked up from where he was quickly fastening his utility belt, pulling boots on with swift efficiency. The older man paused, their bond humming with emotion too vast to specify.

“They broke into the Medcenter only ten minutes ago. Virmu was still in a healing trance.”

Qui-Gon stepped forward suddenly, reaching out to take hold of Obi-Wan’s shoulders, a hesitance filling their bond as if Qui-Gon was bracing the younger man.

“Durosian officers tired to prevent the Trevsins from leaving but the pirates managed to escape. They have stolen a small spacecraft and left Duro Shipyard less than a minute ago. They took Virmu with them.”

Obi-Wan blinked. He stepped back,

“She’ll be helpless while in a trance,” he murmured.

He found it suddenly impossible to think of his formidable and difficult master powerless in the hands of the Trevsin pirates. The Trevsins’ purpose for taking her was perfectly clear, but it still made little difference.

“Baniss-Ena said the ship they stole is able to be tracked, but we’ll lose that ability if they jump to lightspeed before –”

Obi-Wan cut Qui-Gon off.

“We must follow them.”

Qui-Gon looked at him with his steady blue gaze.

 _We do not know where they are going_ , he whispered through their bond.

The older man reached out mentally for him but Obi-Wan rose shields, thinking hard. He grabbed his boots, pulling them on.

“I know,” he said quietly.

Qui-Gon was still watching him and Obi-Wan bit his lip momentarily again.

“You think I should not go after them?” he asked purposefully and Qui-Gon looked away.

“I do not know. It is not safe for you, not when they have kidnapped Virmu for bait. They wish for you to follow them, wherever it is they are going.”

“Sh’Tar’va,” Obi-Wan replied quietly, the name of the Sh’kil slave planet a bitter taste inside his mouth.

Qui-Gon looked mutely at him, their Force bond twisting with concern and fear. Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly, opening them to meet Qui-Gon’s. Obi-Wan felt his breath leave him, tight, but controlled. He pushed back the inevitable panic and focused on what had to be done. They would need to leave at once. If they could capture the Trevsins before the pirates entered the dangerous Outer Rim, they could save Virmu and prevent being caught and sold as slaves to the Sh’kil once more.

A feeling like ice wove through Obi-Wan. He had known since the beginning of remembering that he would have to face the past. There would be no more hiding and pretending. If the Trevsins intended to have him follow them to Sh’Tar’va, then he would do so.

 _You are not my padawan, the Council will not allow you to accompany me on this mission,_ Qui-Gon said softly through their bond, even as he reached for his comlink, contacting Baniss-Ena once more and instructing the officer to move all their items at the Builder’s Hotel to the ship they had arrived in.

Obi-Wan looked hard at him.

_I will speak to the Council._

He knew his determination was easily felt, it transmitted through their bond, unable to be held back by his shields. Qui-Gon’s presence gleamed with sudden warmth mixed with that present worry. Qui-Gon dipped his head in a nod, still listening intently to Baniss-Ena. Obi-Wan strode from the room, pulling his blue coat from where he had left it folded on the dresser. He tugged at one of the sealed pockets, searching for his comlink, his hands trembling with cold and emotion held back.

Though battered, his comlink was undamaged from the events of the last few days and he sent an emergency message to the Council. Despite it being the very early hours of the day on Coruscant, Obi-Wan’s call was answered almost instantly, Obi-Wan recognizing Senior Councilmember Mace Windu’s calm low voice immediately.

“Padawan Kenobi, I have received your message, what is the nature of your emergency?”

There was no time for formalities, nor did Obi-Wan particularly feel like expressing them.

“Master Virmu has been kidnapped by Trevsin pirates that escaped Duro prison roughly an hour ago. Master Jinn and I have just been alerted. We intend to follow the pirates before they reach their destination.”

There was a slight pause, then the higher, faintly accented voice of Ki-Adi Mundi came over the connection as well, making it clear more then one Jedi was listening to the call.

“Destination?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied bluntly, “they are going to Sh’Tar’va.”

A dead silence followed after his words and Obi-Wan could envision the faces of the two Jedi masters, the silent questions, the wondering how much Obi-Wan knew about Sh’Tar’va.

“I don’t believe this is mission you are qualified for, Padawan Kenobi. Please remain at the Duro Shipyard until we can send for your return to the Temple. We will brief Qui-Gon about the matters –”

Obi-Wan cut Mace Windu off, his anger giving his own low voice cold sharpness,

“I am going with Qui-Gon. It is imperative that we follow the slavers as soon as possible.”

“Perhaps, but we must insist that you remain –” Ki-Adi Mundi’s warning was also dismissed by Obi-Wan with iron resolve.

“I will not abandon my master, not as she once did to me.”

Another silence followed then Mace Windu spoke, his deep voice heavy.

“How much do you remember?”

Obi-Wan looked at the dark walls of the room, the unmade bed, all without seeing it,

“Enough,” he said quietly, “I remember enough to know where and why they are taking her. Just as I know that I _am_ qualified for this mission.”

 _Obi-Wan we must go,_ Qui-Gon’s mind called to him and Obi-Wan heard the man striding through the other room hurriedly.

“You will return to the Temple,” Master Windu declared sternly.

Obi-Wan’s eyes closed briefly, he inhaled, tasting the faint elusive smell of smoke still lingering on the recycled oxygen of the shipyard, the darkness of the room like a cloak he drew around him.

“I will not,” he answered with calm clarity, cutting the connection before Mace Windu or Ki-Adi Mundi could say anything else.

The bedroom door opened, light from the bathroom spilling in. Obi-Wan blinked, looking at Qui-Gon who gave him a small smile, even as he warned Obi-Wan.

“Disobeying a direct Council order can have severe consequences.”

“It is necessary,” Obi-Wan bit out, yanking his torn coat on and wishing for the warmth of his tunic layers, or even more so the warmth he had woken up to in Qui-Gon’s arms, the man’s body curved around his own.

He sensed Qui-Gon’s concern tempered by soft admiration and love. For a moment they only looked at one another, Obi-Wan stepping to the side to move past Qui-Gon. Unexpectedly the taller man reached out, pulling Obi-Wan against his broad chest in a sudden embrace, still mindful of the younger man’s injured rib. They clung to one another momentarily before separating, Qui-Gon’s gaze intense with emotions that whirred through their bond, too complex to understand. Gently, the man touched Obi-Wan’s cheek before turning and moving into the main room.

There was nothing to collect besides their comlinks and lightsabers. Obi-Wan felt a sharp burst of anger at the thought of Virmu’s lightsaber, constructed from Relskit`na steel and the fang of a large creature native to Grelia, in the hands of the Trevins.

Qui-Gon spoke as soon as they exited the hotel.

“Baniss-Ena wishes to meet us at Shipyard 331. The Duro Government has graciously provided us with a new ship, one that is capable of tracking the ship the Trevsins stole, without a tracing beacon and in lightspeed.”

Qui-Gon’s stride quickened without a hint of his limp from earlier and Obi-Wan had to walk very fast to keep pace with him.

“How is that possible?” Obi-Wan asked, glancing briefly at the twisted wreckage left from the explosion of Shipyard 15 as they passed the area.

A haze of smoke still drifted over the shipyard, engineers and workers moving around slowly, examining the rubble. The semi-darkness of the area was soon filled with light as they crossed into districts where the explosion had not hit and more light fell from undamaged shipyards. Qui-Gon paused, hailing an airtaxi.

“Duro starship computers are built with a auto-connect feature that allows all Duro made crafts that are noncommissioned to be inter-linked. It’s been very effective for communication.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows, climbing swiftly into the back of the aircab with Qui-Gon.

“The Trevsins aren’t aware of this?” he asked and Qui-Gon shook his head.

“Only the Duros know that the computers are linked and they’re unlikely to inform others.”

“We could sabotage their controls,” Obi-Wan suggested but Qui-Gon shook his head again.

“I asked Baniss-Ena, but apparently the ship computers are only capable of communicating and tracking other Duro ships, they can’t do much more than that. I don’t know if it is possible to hack directly into the Trevsin’s ship computer.”

Obi-Wan nodded, sinking into deep thought. The Trevsins wouldn’t be able to make the jump to light speed for at least an hour, traffic from the Duro Space Run was so heavy outside the shipyard that it was impossible to jump any earlier than that. If they could catch them before the Trevsins jumped to the Outer Rim… He checked the time that ran above the row of open circuits and controls at the front of the aircab,

“We haven’t much time,” he said quietly and Qui-Gon nodded.

* * *

Shipyard 331 was elevated higher then some of the other shipyards and the airtaxi rose, hovering over a large circular landing pad. Obi-Wan leaned forward despite himself, watching the shine of thousands of shipyard lights catch the white uniform jacket that Baniss-Ena wore below them and the metal hull of the ship behind the Durosian officer.

Long and sleek, clean and simple as all Duro ships were, the steel frame of the small starship has a burnished look to it, gleaming with shadows and light. The nose of the ship was tapered with a sharp point, the stern ending jaggedly into beautiful angular fins. Thick impenetrable glass ran through the ship in narrow lines, exposing a metal interior of glowing blue and dark steel. It was small but ethereal, the handiwork beyond astonishing. Though any childhood interest Obi-Wan had had in ships had faded long ago, he could freely admit that the Duro ship was beautiful and formidable for its small size.

The airtaxi landed with a slight wobble and Qui-Gon paid quickly, both of them slipping from the cab and striding rapidly toward Baniss-Ena who walked hurriedly toward them. The ship behind the head security officer was already running, the engines humming quietly. Baniss-Ena stopped a few feet away, facing Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, jerking their head in a nod to the ship behind them.

“This ship is a smaller but faster model then the one those Trevsins stole. We don’t generally name our ships but the engineers called this one the _Zar Ka_ , Durese for ‘blade’. Consider it a gift from The Company for ending the thefts.”

They regarded both Jedi with shrewd respect, their arms crossed over their white jacket.

“I wouldn’t refuse it if I were you,” Baniss-Ena remarked dryly and gave a small weary smile that held little humor.

The Durosian officer was clearly exhausted but retained a sense of professional calm that Obi-Wan had rarely seen falter. Only Baniss-Ena’s luminescent orange-red eyes displayed their concern about this new situation.

“I apologize again, on behalf of all Duros, the escape of the pirates and the capturing of Master Virmu –” they broke off, grimacing.

Obi-Wan looked over at Qui-Gon briefly before looking back at the officer.

“Were any others harmed in the attack on the Medcenter?” he asked, and Baniss-Ena nodded tightly.

“Eleven, that I know of. Four deaths.”

They shook their head, their lipless mouth compressed tightly in dismay.

Baniss-Ena looked up at them both, their oblong face creasing slightly in a small frown.

“We are beyond grateful for your assistance, Master Jedi,” they said, speaking loudly over the hum of the ship’s engines.

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon inclined their heads. Wind from the running of the ship’s small engines whipped Qui-Gon’s hair, tugging on their clothes. The three of them looked at each another, a silent acknowledgement of all that had transpired in the last few days. Baniss-Ena stepped forward suddenly, raising palms in the traditional Duro gesture.

“It is customary to bid farewell by saying ‘peaceful travels’, however I don’t believe that would apply to this.” They paused, tilting their bare head, their aqua skin almost teal in the different shipyard lights.

"May the Force be with you,” Baniss-Ena said at last, and Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon’s surprise and appreciation through their bond.

The men lifted both palms as well.

“And with you,” Qui-Gon said quietly next to Obi-Wan.

The thrum of the _Zar Ka_ was pulsing through the duracrete surface. Their time was limited. Baniss-Ena straightened, snapping a sharp salute and Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon bowed in response. The two men stepped forward, one in ripped civilian clothes, the other in the simple tunics of a Jedi. They walked side by side, neither looking back as they strode toward the waiting ship.

 

_End of Part One_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh! what will happen now? 
> 
> honestly i know the beginning is a bit slow but i think it's important to address Obi-Wan's behavior towards food again and have Qui-Gon be more aware of it. 
> 
> also snuggles are nice, right? :) i think Qui-Gon is naturally a cuddler and Obi-Wan is all like 'this unusual closeness while sleeping' because he has never been cuddled before. *tears*


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi there! welcome back for part two!!! thank you everyone for being patient over these last three weeks, i know it must have seemed like a long time for the update. i'm hoping the next chapter will be up in two weeks, but as school has started, it may a day or so over the 14 day mark. sorry :) anyway, i hope you like this chapter (Qui-Gon's pov), let me know what you think!

_Part Two_

 

The _Zar Ka_ was as sleek and beautifully constructed on the inside as it was on the outside. The interior was lit with soft blue lights that reflected against the dark metal walls and high ceilings, displaying the supreme craftsmanship of the ship’s corridors and cockpit. It was clearly designed for efficiency as opposed to grandeur, but managed to convey both.

The ship had already undergone all the preliminary procedures for taking off, courtesy of a crew of three Duros. The Duros stood immediately when Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon entered the cockpit, the area feeling smaller with the amount of people in it. Qui-Gon sensed a rush of discomfort from Obi-Wan at how enclosed the space was but the emotion quickly faded as the Duros exited the ship with hurried salutes, walking down the _Zar Ka’s_ landing ramp to join Baniss-Ena on the landing platform below.

Obi-Wan stepped forward, pausing near the pilot’s chair. The dark, almost black, interior of the cockpit was lit by the glow of numerous switches and lights. Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan frown thoughtfully, the smaller Jedi’s mind thinking rapidly through different ship control panels as the man took a moment to memorize the layout of the console. In seconds the information was cemented and Obi-Wan swung into the chair, leaning forward to adjust the controls nearest to him. The ship engines hummed louder and Qui-Gon stepped forward, bending his head slightly at the low ceiling as he sat down in the copilot’s chair. It was built for a Durosian, not a man of his body frame, but the differences weren’t enough to be an inconvenience. Obi-Wan’s torso was bent over the console, eyes studying the different gauges and Qui-Gon watched him, still unable to banish that uneasy feeling churning in the pit of his stomach.

He frowned, even with the dangers ahead of them, it was unlike him to not be calm. He could not explain it, only that he felt something through the Force, the barest flicker of a warning, impossible to pinpoint. His eye narrowed in concentration but the feeling fled. It did not resonate within their bond, that much he was reassured of. The bond between Obi-Wan and him was a source of pure light and power, faintly concealed, as was necessary for Obi-Wan, the man still not used to complete exposure to another Force-sensitive.

Qui-Gon turned his head as Obi-Wan stood to flip the lift-off sequence switches that were safely set into the ceiling. The smaller man’s blue jacket and brown shirt pulled up slightly, revealing a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s slender hips and abdomen, the slice of skin bone-white in the shine of the blue lights on the console. Qui-Gon looked away, feeling something else entirely different then his earlier unease. He did not know what to call the emotion and pushed it aside as Obi-Wan dropped back into his chair, the younger Jedi swiveling the controls over.

“Stabilize thrusters,” Obi-Wan ordered quietly.

Qui-Gon reached over, tapping into the _Zar Ka’s_ computer and accessing the control system, regulating the ship’s power thrusters to circulate cold air through the engines to prevent overheating. He glanced out the large cockpit viewport and saw that Baniss-Ena and the other Duros had already left. There was too much to be done at the shipyards for them to stay.

For a moment, Qui-Gon’s eyes lingered on the numerous shipyards spreading out around them, knowing that the Duro Starshipwright Shipyard would disappear behind him as just another mission. He could not so easily dismiss the experiences of the last few days there though. The dangerous pursuit of criminals in the shipyards, the investigation at the bar, the medcenter where they had mistakenly believed Virmu would be safe, the Builder’s Hotel where Obi-Wan had confided his past, and the other smaller, inexpensive hotel where he had first kissed Obi-Wan.

“Prepare for ascent,” Obi-Wan instructed, reaching for the ship’s controls and breaking Qui-Gon from his reverie.

The engines hummed marginally louder but were still remarkably quiet as they lifted up smoothly. Obi-Wan’s brow was creased in concentration as he tilted the ship, rising off the landing pad and maneuvering around a towering shipyard where an enormous freighter was under construction. Through their bond, Qui-Gon sensed the man’s surprise at the ease in which the ship moved. The ghost of a smile came briefly to Qui-Gon as he privately agreed with Obi-Wan’s mental assessment that the _Zar Ka_ was a definite improvement over the Jedi ship they had arrived in. He only hoped that the difference would allow them to overtake the Trevsins.

Qui-Gon leaned forward in the copilot’s chair and accessed the ship’s computer again, piecing together the information that was arrayed before him. The _Zar Ka’s_ computer relayed information in Durese, but from what Qui-Gon could interpret they had plenty of fuel and the ship had been tested thoroughly to handle the most rigorous jumps to lightspeed. Like all Duro-made vessels, it was tough beneath it’s sleek exterior.

He tapped in the weapons information on the console computer, frowning as a small hologram displayed the different locations. For front defense, the _Zar Ka_ was adequate, but it had little to protect its engines along the back and underside. Shielding was stable but Qui-Gon did not know how it would hold up if it came to direct confrontation between them and the slavers, which seemed more and more likely. The Duros did not build their ships for war, unless outright commissioned. He glanced over at Obi-Wan whose fingers moved rapidly over the switches, preparing the small vessel for breaking the artificial atmosphere barrier of the shipyard.

“Can we avoid the Duro Space Run?” Qui-Gon asked quickly and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“It’s unlikely but I may be able to maneuver out of it, though that depends entirely on where the Trevsins are.”

Qui-Gon nodded and tapped into the main computer, inputting a search for any airborne Duro-made ships. Thousands of results came back but Qui-Gon rapidly shortened the list, dismissing any vessel that did not fit the make of the ship the Trevsins stole. He sensed Obi-Wan’s own focus as they rose higher, the shipyard shrinking behind them, the jeweled gleam of distant stars rapidly filling the ship’s viewport.

“Exiting orbit,” Obi-Wan said sharply, and Qui-Gon grabbed unto the side of the console just in time as the _Zar Ka_ shuddered hard, slamming through the atmosphere barrier.

Almost immediately they were engulfed in the furious traffic of the Duro Space Run. Obi-Wan switched controls completely to manual, deftly maneuvering around a giant cruiser and avoiding a small Alderaan ship. Qui-Gon typed swiftly, pulling up multiple holos off various ships the computer was attempting to connect to, trying to find the Trevsins’ ship. He sent out a more detailed linking signal, strapping in one handed as Obi-Wan swung the _Zar Ka_ sharply to the left to avoid a stream of passenger ships rushing by.

“I can break from the Run in 6.5 minutes but I need to know we’re following the right ship,” Obi-Wan said shortly, yanking on a headset.

Qui-Gon plugged him into the vocal feedback of the computer, Durese words scrolled over different holograms as the computer made contact with each ship, rapidly eliminating them as targets as each verified their status code, something that would have been erased the moment a ship was flown without Duro permission. Qui-Gon did not need to check the time to know that their window for finding the slavers was closing rapidly. Traffic was thinning up ahead, the Duro Space Run merging into the Corellian Trade Route, the Trevsins would be able to jump to lightspeed as soon as they reached that point. If they did so before the _Zar Ka_ was able to follow their coordinates, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon would lose the ship completely. A surge of determination came through the bond and Obi-Wan jerked his head to the side suddenly at what he heard from the Durese coming through his headset,

“That’s them!” he called.

Qui-Gon shoved aside the various holos the computer was cycling through, leaving the output of only one ship left. He examined the code quickly. The Duro permission status was not there and it fit the description of the ship the Trevsins had stole.

 _Four minutes_ Obi-Wan called through the bond and Qui-Gon nodded, he accessed the computer’s communication networks, changing it to Basic and inputting the Duros information of the Trevsins ship, waiting for it to track.

The computer whirled through information before suddenly freezing, the blue hololights of the hovering screen flashing red. Qui-Gon bit his lip and leaned forward, his long hair falling across his shoulders as he tried to correct the problem. Almost immediately he saw what was wrong.

“We’re not close enough to track them if they jump now!”

Obi-Wan glanced up sharply, nimbly avoiding a freighter that swept past them, the traffic space lanes narrowing alarmingly fast.

“I thought that didn’t matter!” he exclaimed, a hint of frustration in his low voice and Qui-Gon shook his head, face set with determination.

“It won’t,” he replied briskly, slamming his palm on the emergency release of the computer portion of the console.

With a hiss the panel exposing the mixed wires and controls of the computer slid open near his feet and Qui-Gon tore the chair safety straps off, falling to his knees and bracing himself against the side of the console as he stripped wiring open. He was not as skilled with the mechanical rewiring of computers as Obi-Wan was but they had little choice, Obi-Wan was needed much more as a pilot now. He knew enough to know that he had to override the ship’s procedure policies and make the computer think they were closer to the other ship. The bond tightened in his mind before Obi-Wan flooded it with instructions for what to do as Qui-Gon spliced wires. Sparks flew in the dark cockpit but it hardly mattered.

_Two minutes._

Qui-Gon worked faster, gritting his teeth as the _Zar Ka_ tipped to avoid the close contact of other vessels, threatening to destabilize the ship’s inner gravity.

With a twist of another wire, Qui-Gon pulled himself up, tapping quickly into the computer and accessing communication again, searching for the Trevsins’ ship. The bond became almost silent with their shared held breath before the computer beeped and a holo of new code poured open across the screen as the ship computers interlinked.

“Their computer is translating on auditory,” Obi-Wan verified tightly, “I can hear the Trevsins.”

Qui-Gon nodded, tracking the signal before glancing up through the cockpit viewport.

“I have them. Ahead, seven marks.”

Obi-Wan looked up.

“I see them,” he said shortly.

Through the field of various spacecraft streaming past them, the dark burnished metal of a Duro starship suddenly became visible, Qui-Gon glancing needlessly at the computer to verify it. It was a much larger ship then the _Zar Ka_ , with curved edges and enclosed engines but there was no mistaking it, not with the code identical to the ship the Trevsins had stolen.

Obi-Wan shot a quick glance at Qui-Gon.

“Strap in,” he commanded and Qui-Gon didn’t hesitate, barely pulling the clasp of the chair’s restraints tight before Obi-Wan yanked on the controls, breaking sharply away from the Duro Space Run amid a cacophony of alarms from other ships.

They hovered breathlessly for a second before the Trevsins’ ship jolted, reaching where the Duro Space Run turned off into the Corellian Trade Route in the distance.

 _They’re going to lightspeed!_ Qui-Gon warned through the bond as Obi-Wan accelerated the _Zar-Ka_ forward.

Obi-Wan’s mental reply was grim.

_So are we._

The ships below them tumbled away as they pulled completely clear of the Duro Space Run. Qui-Gon slapped his hand over the tracking button, confirming it seconds before the Trevsins’ ship disappeared.

“Coordinates 12.17, Vargor system,” he relayed as the synced computer instantly revealed the Trevsin’s plotted destination.

He felt Obi-Wan’s confirmation but did not have time to look at the younger man as the stars burst around them, streaking past, the realm of space distorted momentarily under the pure speed of the jump. The jump was so quick that only seconds passed, Qui-Gon barely having time to reach forward and pull up the _Zar Ka’s_ shields through the computer. In that moment of silence Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan’s mind touch his freely, filled with a wild, almost sorrowful emotion. He looked up, catching the vivid blue-green color of Obi-Wan’s determined gaze.  
.  
Then, with a shudder, the space around them rapidly reformed, the ship falling from lightspeed. There was nothing but the backdrop of space and the rising shape of the Trevsins’ship, swiveling to meet them.

Obi-Wan spun the controls aside and reached for weapons controls, firing heavily at the ship. It turned quickly, but was unable to avoid the damage, it’s exterior shields absorbing each shot in bursts of energy crackling across the hull. The Trevsins fired instantly in retaliation but Obi-Wan was able to maneuver the smaller, faster _Zar Ka_ out of the way. Qui-Gon frantically hacked into the computer, trying to get more information through the link between them and the Trevsins’ ship.

“They’ve lost around twenty percent of their shielding power,” he informed Obi-Wan tightly, readjusting their own shields as a blast shook the ship.

Qui-Gon frowned, aware of Obi-Wan’s surging thoughts and emotions inside their bond. The _Zar Ka_ couldn’t endure direct fire for much longer. Both Duro ships were hindered by their lack of emergency shields. As it was, weaponry and defense shields were merely perfunctory and it was only a matter of who could hit first. The _Zar Ka_ had less firepower than the Trevsins’ ship but it could maneuver faster and Obi-Wan was a skilled pilot. The two ships dodged one another’s shots, Obi-Wan letting out a hiss as they were struck along the engines.

“It’s not critical,” Qui-Gon called as he pulled up the damage readout, but Obi-Wan shook his head.

“The next one might be.”

The Trevsin ship swung around, firing swiftly and Obi-Wan pulled up, flipping the ship to avoid it. He fired hard along the surface of the Trevsins’ ship but it dove out of the way. Qui-Gon clenched his jaw as Obi-Wan followed, the _Zar Ka’s_ engines whining under the strain. A volley of fire came from the Trevsins’ ship suddenly and Qui-Gon pushed what shielding powers the Zar Ka had to the front of the ship, hoping to absorb the damage. It was too late, a heavy blast shook their vessel hard and the frantic beeping of the ship’s diagnostic system filled the dark cockpit.

“We’ve lost our shields on the left side and the third engine valve is damaged,” Qui-Gon confirmed breathlessly from the computer’s emergency readout.

Obi-Wan said nothing, spinning the ship to avoid another attack, but their eyes met again, the bond filled with their shared thoughts. Without the engine valves in working order, fuel would be unable to flood to the hyperdrive. They were trapped, unable to jump to lightspeed and stranded with barely any shielding. Would this be how it ended for them? So close to everything?

Another alarm rang through the tense cockpit, purple lights on the console blinking and Qui-Gon froze in the middle of attempting to readjust what shield power they had left.

“They’re contacting us,” he said, and Obi-Wan’s face was lit with the purple glow of the alarm, creased with confusion.

_How?…_

Qui-Gon shook his head,

_They must have found out about the communication link._

They shared a wordless glance before Obi-Wan gave a tight nod and Qui-Gon tapped open the ship’s comlink on the console. Silence descended as both ships ceased fire warily. A large holo of the other ship’s cockpit came into sudden view on the hovering computer screen, the synced computers allowing visual as well as auditory connection. The silvery hued skin of a large Trevsin gleamed in the blue light of the cockpit, the slaver settling back in the pilot’s chair.

“So, the Durosian mechanic I gutted was right, you are able to contact us. Those bugs have some skill after all.”

Qui-Gon kept his face impassive, his voice mild as Obi-Wan sat motionless at his side.

“Evidently.”

The Trevsin gave a small smile, his hard chiseled features distinguishable from the other Trevsins only by the unusual dark color of his eyes, pure black.

“And apparently you Jedi are not as peaceful as myth has it. Did you intend to kill me, _kaslator_?”

The Trevsin’s eyes shifted to where Obi-Wan sat. The young man’s face was blank and silent, his eyes automatically averted to the console. Purple and red warning lights gleamed across his skin, catching the shine of auburn in Obi-Wan’s long padawan braid.

“State your reason for contacting us,” Qui-Gon ordered and the Trevsin looked back at him coldly.

“So you can return to attacking us?” he snapped before glancing over his shoulder at another Trevsin who moved behind his chair, stepping out of their field of vision.

When the Trevsin spoke again his voice had returned to its hard tone from before.

“You travel with a slave owned by the Sh’kil, we have been commissioned to return him to Sh’Tar’va.”

“I’m sure you have,” Qui-Gon remarked mildly, keeping even his anger concealed from the inflections in his voice, only Obi-Wan knew it was there, the younger man’s own emotions so shielded that the bond felt uncomfortably silent. “However, my partner is a Jedi and is under the protection of the Jedi Order and the Republic.”

The Trevsin’s face remained expressionless, his voice scornful.

“You are in the Outer Rim, Jedi. You follow our laws.”

Qui-Gon tilted his head slightly, his voice becoming even calmer as he stared at the Trevsin’s image, aware of the close proximity of their ship, the viciousness the slavers were capable of.

“I refuse. As Jedi, we follow our own laws.”

He glanced towards Obi-Wan who still had not moved.

“My partner has every right to fire upon your ship, to arrest you, or to slit your throat, I’m not partial to the decision he makes.”

A slight wariness filtered across the Trevsin’s expression before his mouth parted in a sneer.

“He bears the mark of the Sh’kil, it is their decision to what he does.”

The Trevsin’s eyes darted towards Obi-Wan again.

“You have only one thing to bargain with, Jedi.”

Qui-Gon tightened his hands on his the edges of his chair, his only concession to anger, out of view of the Trevsin.

“I was not aware we were making a deal.”

The Trevsin’s dark eyes turned on him, his chin length white hair gleamed in the blue light, slicked back along his scalp.

“Your ship is too damaged to follow us. By the time you fix it, we will be gone, your _vhashket_ Jedi with us. She isn’t much use right now, but I’m sure you would not want to watch her die.”

Obi-Wan lifted his head finally, his face still completely still.

“What do you want?” he asked with quiet clarity.

“You, in exchange for the old woman,” the Trevsin hissed, gaze hungry as he looked over at Obi-Wan.

“And you believe we will make this trade?” Qui-Gon asked calmly as the Trevsin turned back to him.

“I know how self-sacrificing you Jedi are. Give me the slave and I will return the old Jedi to you.”

“And if I do not?”

“Then another Jedi dies.”

Qui-Gon sat silently. He did not look at Obi-Wan, he did not look away from the ruthless expression of the slaver.

“Make your decision, Jedi,” The Trevsin ordered, but Qui-Gon ignored him.

Virmu was no doubt in danger, but it did not make sense for the Trevsins to kill her. They needed her as a pawn for them. However, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon could not escape to form another attack, not with their third engine damaged and their shields so low. Strategically, the slavers had them backed into a corner.

“The decision is made,” Qui-Gon said calmly and knew that Obi-Wan sensed his thoughts for the young man leaned forward, pulling the ship up sharply and firing their remaining firepower at the Trevsins’ ship engines, hoping to cripple the other ship.

The Trevsin’s face creased in a snarl and the correspondence cut out as the Trevsins’ ship tried to dodge the blasts.

“Their shields are too damaged, they’re going to lightspeed,” Qui-Gon said sharply and in seconds the Trevsins’ ship disappeared, impossible to follow now that the _Zar Ka’s_ engines were damaged.

“Coordinates,” Obi-Wan asked quietly in the silence that followed, and Qui-Gon pulled open the hologram of code that the computer was still cycling from the Trevsins’ ship, now that they were linked.

“4.50.11-Husutak System.”

He mapped the coordinates into the ship’s console, but it was unnecessary to speak their destination.

“Sh’Tar’va,” Obi-Wan answered automatically and Qui-Gon looked up at him.

Obi-Wan’s gaze was steady in the cockpit. The silence of the bond was unfurling, building into noise washing over him like water. What Qui-Gon had mistaken for fear in the man during the talk with the Trevsin was resolve, what he had seen as hesitance was planning. Qui-Gon looked away, into the endlessness of space.

“No,” he said quietly.

Obi-Wan reached over, shutting off the weapons system and turning on the atuopilot.

“The Trevsins’ are going to Sh’Tar’va for the protection of the Sh’kil. They will confer with them to arrange a ransom for Virmu with the Republic.”

“And you think that by going to Sh’Tar’va we can stop this?” Qui-Gon demanded,

Obi-Wan watched him calmly, the bond heavy with the weight of his determination.

“We can track to their location, I can find Virmu and we can gather evidence to expose the Sh’kil to the senate.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, the uneasy feeling in his stomach rose, knotting his insides. He felt that he should have known that this would be the plan. As soon as Obi-Wan had disobeyed the Council to go with him, he should have known this was what would happen.

“Obi-Wan, the engine valve may not be repairable and even if we can repair it, there is no saying that we will not be destroyed by the Sh’kil the moment we enter orbit.”

“The Sh’kil are isolationists, they only monitor what enters the atmosphere,” Obi-Wan reminded him in that same calm voice, but there was a veneer of steel to the younger man’s tone.

Their bond fluctuated, caught between their hidden emotions, their discord striking sharply. They had not disagreed so strongly before but Qui-Gon found he could not listen to Obi-Wan’s reasoning, not when it meant having them return to the planet that Obi-Wan had been nearly destroyed on years ago.

“We would have to land on the planet to track the Trevsins down,” Qui-Gon argued, staring out the cockpit window, ignoring the alternating lights from various alarm systems connected to the engines, ignoring Obi-Wan’s steady, unflinching train of thought.

“No we wouldn’t. I can take an escape pod to the surface and land at a camp nearest to where the Trevsins’ ship has landed.” Obi-Wan paused, his voice conveying the first hint of what this was costing him, “With my marking I would blend in with the other slaves.”

Qui-Gon stared at him.

“You are asking me to abandon you to enslavement?” he whispered.

Obi-Wan lifted his jaw, his expression oddly gentle.

“I am asking you to do what a Jedi would. Virmu must be recovered as soon as possible, it is the only way.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, crossing his arms over his Jedi tunics, filled with aching despair that he could not hold back.

“They want to capture you, Obi-Wan. Why else would they leave us alive? They expect this,” he stated.

Obi-Wan turned, looking out the viewport, the console lights glinting off his face and torn clothing.

“But not this way,” he said softly, “They wouldn’t even see me, I would be just another slave.”

There was no stopping him, Qui-Gon knew that. He would never be able to match Obi-Wan’s determination and as horrible as returning to Sh’Tar’va was, Obi-Wan was right. It would be the fastest way to find Virmu.

“I’m going with you,” he declared firmly.

Obi-Wan looked sharply at him, his expression extremely serious as his eyes trailed over Qui-Gon’s face.

“No,” he finally said, “You would be caught immediately, you don’t have the Sh’kil crest tattooed on you. Besides I need you to stay in Sh’Tar’va’s orbit in case the Trevsins ship leaves the planet before I can get to it.”

“No. There has to be another way.”

Qui-Gon had never thought he would plead for anything, but he found now that he could not accept this idea. He could not abandon Obi-Wan alone on Sh’Tar’va. It was painful enough to think of both of them going, but to have it where he was not even on the same planet, was unable to protect Obi-Wan…he did not think he could do such a thing. Obi-Wan watched him, the bond flooding with that same wild, sad emotion from earlier.

“Qui-Gon, you knew it would come to this. There is no other way.” Obi-Wan said, his voice low and stern in the dark cockpit.

Qui-Gon unstrapped himself from his chair, standing. He looked over at Obi-Wan who tilted his head back to meet his eyes. Qui-Gon stepped away, moving towards the cockpit exit. He stopped near the door, turning back.

“There’s not a damn thing I can do about it, is there?” he asked harshly.

Obi-Wan only looked at him with that same quiet strength of will. Qui-Gon left, unable to bear being in the presence of the man he loved with this terrible knowledge between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok...sorry for the arguing at the end. but i think that this is realistic, considering that Qui-Gon has to accept that he can't stop Obi-Wan from facing his past, as much as he wants to protect Obi-Wan. i didn't realize how sad this chapter ends until my sister told me it was heartbreaking to have Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon at odds again. but again, it was necessary. don't worry, i don't intend to have Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon argue all the time. but it was important that you know by the end of this chapter what part two is going to cover. 
> 
> also i have no idea how computer hacking, piloting, or starships work in Star Wars, or real life. i just make stuff up and hope that i don't overuse my creative license. :)
> 
> Vhashket - derogatory Trevsin word for an older female  
> Kaslator - derogatory Trevsin word for a male prostitute.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry about a slightly late update, I am being swamped with homework this semester. First things first, this is a very long chapter (Obi-Wan’s pov) and there is sexual content within this chapter. Said content is completely consensual, but I do go into detail with the intimacy that takes place. I know some of my readers may not feel comfortable reading something sexual and that is just fine. You can read until you see * * * the second time – that denotes where the sexual content begins. However, I did my best to write the scene with accuracy and beauty so please let me know what you think, if you do end up reading it. :)

For a long time Obi-Wan sat in the pilot’s chair of the _Zar Ka_ , the red and purple lights on the console flashing in the dark room. He stared out at distant stars, the coldness of the ship seeping into him. The bond between Qui-Gon and him was stagnant, both of them shielding. For Obi-Wan it was still necessary but he knew that Qui-Gon was shielding because the man was attempting to conceal his anger. It was uncomfortable. The lack of connection made Obi-Wan’s head hurt, his body feeling weighed down.

After awhile Obi-Wan sat forward, tucking his padawan braid more firmly behind his ear as he pulled up the holo readout of the damage the ship had taken. The _Zar Ka_ flew beautifully but it was hindered by its lack of militarized weaponry and shields. The space battle had been brief and Obi-Wan had avoided what he could but they had sustained heavy damage. They were out of firepower, their shields half-gone and the broken valve for the third engine was preventing them from moving anywhere. Obi-Wan frowned. He could fix the engine valve, though that would be difficult, as he wasn’t sure if he would need to replace parts. The repair could take hours and then the engines would have to be run through safety procedures. The jump to lightspeed would also take time, at least five hours separated the Husutak system and the Vargor system, even with the _Zar Ka’s_ remarkable speed. Obi-Wan grimaced, looking away. He didn’t like losing so much time but there was nothing he could do about it.

Obi-Wan tilted his head, thumbing through the computer’s information and trying to ignore how it felt to not have Qui-Gon there talking with him about what needed to be repaired. The heating system had also been damaged but it was a simple repair, Obi-Wan would handle the cold until then. He paused, studying the ship’s diagnostic controls. The Duros built their computer systems differently than what he was used to. The Judicial Department ships’ systems were not as exact but he had the familiarity with them that he didn’t have with Duromade ships. Reluctantly, he refrained from hacking anything. It had been enough of a risk to manually rewire the computer before jumping to lightspeed. Instead, Obi-Wan plotted out the eventual course for Sh’Tar’va, inputting it so the _Zar Ka_ would launch as soon as the ship confirmed that repairs were done.

Obi-Wan turned slightly from where he was leaning over the console, noticing a warning purple light fading back to blue on the _Zar Ka’s_ computer. It took a moment for him to register that the heat system was being repaired. At first Obi-Wan thought the computer was already correcting minor damage with auto repair but he realized that the heat system would have needed mechanical work done. Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, unsure of how to feel. Qui-Gon and him were arguing, Qui-Gon was upset with him, Qui-Gon was repairing the ship’s heating system for him and deliberately setting it higher so that Obi-Wan would not get cold. It was difficult to understand, but something in Obi-Wan eased. He did not try to get past Qui-Gon’s shields, sensing the other Jedi still needed some time alone. Neither one of them were ready yet to have the conversation he knew they would have. He was not ready to think about what had to be done, despite his determination to do it.

He stood, pausing as warm air suddenly began to circulate through the ship’s ventilation system. The engine valve needed to be repaired as soon as possible. They could not afford to be stranded in space without shields or firepower, even if they were still in the Core Worlds. Obi-Wan glanced at the map of the ship’s interior on the cockpit wall. The engine room was beneath the floor of the ship’s storage area, on the other side of the _Zar Ka._

He could faintly sense Qui-Gon now, in the main area where the ship’s heating and electrical systems were. Obi-Wan’s headache eased slightly as Qui-Gon lowered his shields. Obi-Wan could still sense anger and sorrow but it was held back deliberately from flooding the bond, Qui-Gon’s presence still distant. Obi-Wan remained motionless for a moment longer, then moved. He would talk with Qui-Gon after they finished with repairs.

In the storage area Obi-Wan shed his ripped jacket, rolling up the sleeves of the stained brown shirt he still wore. The room was quite large and held everything from tools to extra food. Piping ran through the ceiling, but the wall panels were smooth, gleaming with reflected blue light. There was the faint smell of burned metal seeping through the room and Obi-Wan inhaled carefully, mentally cataloguing the scents as nontoxic before hauling a crate of tools over to the floor panels that concealed the engines. If the damage was too severe, they would have no choice but to call the Temple for assistance. There were numerous Jedi on missions in the Core Worlds but it could still take days to be reached, by then the Trevsins could have already decided Virmu’s fate.

Obi-Wan accessed the nearest computer on one of the walls. He changed the holo readout from Durese to Basic and quickly found the maintenance switches in a panel near the ground. He flipped the main switch, turning as the panels in the middle of the floor slid back, thick dark smoke releasing into the air from the damaged engines below. The air filter kicked on immediately, clearing the smoke and Obi-Wan walked forward to the edge of the open area. The work pit surrounding the engines was almost 2.5 meters deep and large enough that several mechanics could have worked easily in it. Surprising for how small the ship was but then the majority of the ship’s engines were built on the exterior hull of the _Zar Ka_.

Obi-Wan grabbed a hydrospanner and a smaller portable tool kit before dropping down into the pit. It was dark but a small clear case on one of the curved walls displayed goggles with lights inset on the sides. Obi-Wan pulled a pair on and found that the goggles were preprogrammed to assist in repairs. He turned a dial along the edge of one of the lights, focusing the lenses on the engines concealed behind a protective wall in the pit. With a soft whir small green lines appeared across the lens, revealing the interior layout of the work pit and its components. Obi-Wan nodded thoughtfully. It was useful to know the inner construction of the engines, it would make it that much easier to repair the damaged valve. However, he would first have to remove the wall panel. He set to work, using the hydrospanner to loosen the bolting along the wall and prying the edge of the paneling with his fingers. Finally the paneling buckled and slid back, displaying the slender engines nestled into the wall cavity. They were arranged in a circular pattern, with at least thirty of them packed in the area.

It was extremely warm near the running engines, Obi-Wan’s shirt stuck to him and he wiped a damp brow absently before turning his attention to the exposed engine casing. There were several engines, all protectively sealed in opaque shells that shone a vivid blue from the energy circulating through them. For a moment, Obi-Wan stared at the crystalline shells before him. He stepped back, flipping through the settings on the goggles, stopping as a spot on the left lens flared red and focused on an engine in the bottom corner of the wall.

He leaned down to examine the engine and saw where a thin line of smoke was still easing through the casing. Obi-Wan crouched down, tentatively touching the casing. It was burning hot and Obi-Wan pulled his hand away sharply, frowning as he noticed the broken valve was affecting the engine’s ability to cool. He tentatively brushed the glowing blue protective shells of the other engines and they felt cool, except for those closest to the damaged one. It was troubling, but not unfixable, provided he could repair the valve.

Opening the casing was easier than he had first thought, the goggles were inlayed with instructions from the computer repair readout. Obi-Wan pressed against the top surface of the shell and found the release button. He input the access code quickly, his fingers stinging at the heat of the almost translucent metal. The protective paneling fell away, revealing wires and gears that steamed, the blue light from the visible engine core bright enough that it lit up the dark pit.

Obi-Wan sat back on his heels, allowing the new burst of smoke to be filtered away before leaning close again. The heat of the engines blasted against his skin as he examined the fuel valve that was set between the regulation gears. The valve was bent and completely melted on one side. Obi-Wan pulled large heat resistant gloves on, reaching out and lifting the valve into the lighting provided by the goggles. Unnecessarily, the goggles informed him that the valve was repairable, listing parts that Obi-Wan was already gathering from the crate of tools.

He worked for a long time, re-soldering the melted mess and attaching a new energy-regulator gauge. Smoke and heat swirled around him but Obi-Wan worked steadily until the valve was fixed. He held the repaired part, examining it for any weaknesses. It wouldn’t last as long as the others, especially if the engines overheated again. It could melt completely and he wouldn’t have the parts to fix it but it would work for now. Obi-Wan reconnected it, carefully avoiding the rushing blue energy surrounding the engine core.

Once the computer ran the valve through safety procedures, the _Zar Ka_ would be cleared to jump to Sh’Tar’va. The jump would give time for the ship to re-harness some of its firepower, though they were still drastically outgunned compared to the ships the Trevsins normally flew. Obi-Wan examined the readout scrolling across the goggle lenses, looking closely for any problems that the new valve would present. He bit his lip in thought. He had no knowledge of what would happen once they arrived at Sh’Tar’va. Despite his determination to find Virmu and confront his past, he would be returning to the darkest moments of his life. His only plan involved infiltrating one of the camps or mines. From there he was completely alone, uncertain if his memory would help or betray him.

His memories of the camps were painful, laced with terror and humiliation. The most frightening though were the memories that he was not sure of, the empty places that still remained from the healers attempt to erase the events from his mind. What had happened then, in that time? Was it more of what he already knew? Or was it something so horrible that it remained blissfully blocked to him? Considering how familiarity triggered his recollection, it was unlikely that many memories would be hidden from him once he was back on Sh’Tar’va. Obi-Wan sat back again, deliberately keeping his worry concealed from the bond. He automatically examined the other engines for damage, brow creased.

Obi-Wan did not know what he would undergo on Sh’Tar’va, if he would even be able to cope with returning to the camps. Still, his determination did not falter. He had to do this. He could not remain behind and wait while the Sh’kil and the Trevsins continued to enslave others or while they bargained with the Senate for Virmu’s life.

Years of research on the slave trade combined with poignant memories gave Obi-Wan more knowledge of the mysterious Sh’kil then what the Senate had. He knew from his time on Sh’Tar’va that the Sh’kil were the most proficient and influential slavers in the Outer Rim. Their isolationism meant that they had to rely on the Trevsins to bring them captives, but without the Sh’kil’s power and money the Trevsins lost control of the trafficking industry. The business arrangement of selling and transporting slaves was essential to the survival of both groups. As it was, there were whole planets that would fall apart economically without the alliance between the Sh’kil and the Trevsins.

There were always some, such as the Twi’leks, who managed to publicly supersede the laws on slavery and would continue to sell their people, regardless of the Sh’kil’s demise. But there were others, like the Har-fo`e, who bought millions of slaves from Sh’Tar’va to work on their remote world so that the wealthy Har-fo`e never had to lower themselves to physical labor. There was also Ol/korvin Enterprises, who were the largest buyers from the Sh’kil. Ol/korvin owned at least eighty percent of the galaxy’s brothels and exotic clubs. They bought slaves for dancers and prostitutes, as well as the covert industry of child sex slavery.

When he had first arrived on Sh’Tar’va, Obi-Wan had learned early on to fear anything that would single him out for attention by the Ol/korvin representatives that often visited the camps, looking for young attractive species to buy. His ability to work extremely hard in physical labor had caused the Sh’kil to hesitate to sell him for a lower price to the Ol/korvin than what they could get from the Har-fo’e. His early escape attempts ultimately bought him more time within the camps as the Sh’kil attempted to break him afterwards with beatings and starvation.

Obi-Wan swallowed, tasting the metallic mix of salt and smoke in his mouth from the heat of the work pit, bitterly reminiscent of the mines. At Sh’Tar’va he had wanted only to die in the end, no longer caring about his former life as a Jedi or where he would end up in his new life as a slave. Though Virmu had come deliberately late, Obi-Wan knew it would have been much worse if she had waited any longer. He had been torn between despair, guilt, and anger. He could not be touched without attacking, could not eat or sleep. He had despised the Sh’kil and despised himself. After only a few weeks he was locked into the life of a slave, unstable and frantic.

They had broken him partially in the camps, for already he had begun numbly enduring what was outside of his control. How much longer would it have been before he would have been pulled into blind submission? He had seen it on Sh’Tar’va, the slaves who fought and stole what they could in desperation became numb, obedient, whether it was through the breaking process or the ‘enlightenment’ that made them almost machine-like. That could have easily been his fate, as well as the fate of becoming someone’s pet or property. Virmu had arrived too late to spare him awareness of those realities, but she had come soon enough that his knowledge of who he once was had not been completely obliterated by the brutality of the camps.

Obi-Wan could not forgive her for waiting to find him, but he would do what he had to do to find her as soon as possible. He was a Jedi, he could not accept anything less of himself. It was time to face the past. He was no longer an untrained child being sold into slavery. Now he would go willingly to Sh’Tar’va.

He frowned, rising to reset the wall paneling, blocking off the blue gleam of the engines. In many ways it was still impossible to imagine himself capable of returning to the past, of not losing control in panic or anger when he was once again in the camps and the dark underground mines.

 _A Jedi does not choose the path that is easy, only the path that is right_. The words of Au’kav Soakacka-Ta, an ancient Jedi philosopher, rose in his mind. Obi-Wan studied the paneling blankly in front of him, recalling the numerous reports that Virmu had assigned him as a young padawan to research some of the earliest quoted Jedi. He doubted she had ever imagined him using such philosophy to justify disobeying the Council’s order to rescue her.

He tightened the bolts along the protective wall panel with the hydrospanner, inputting the repair confirmation for the _Zar Ka’s_ computer to run the safety procedures. He could sense Qui-Gon nearby, had felt the man approaching some time ago, the bond open once more between them. Obi-Wan stood fully, pushing goggles up against his hairline, stripping the large gloves off and looking up. Qui-Gon was crouched on the edge of the work pit, watching him with an expression that seemed both wistful and amused as he observed Obi-Wan’s untidy state. Obi-Wan ran a hand through damp hair. He said nothing, only handed tools up to Qui-Gon who silently returned them to their proper place. Obi-Wan moved to haul himself out of the pit but Qui-Gon leaned down, extending a hand. Obi-Wan took it. Large strong fingers curled around his own, Qui-Gon pulling him up effortlessly and setting Obi-Wan lightly on his feet.

“There is food in the ship’s pantry. We should both eat.” Qui-Gon said softly.

Obi-Wan nodded, ignoring the nervous clench of his stomach at the thought of eating so soon from last time. He was no longer under Virmu’s tutelage, he did not have to wait for when she ate, he told himself sternly.

“I need to clean up.” He responded and Qui-Gon gave him that same look again, reaching out and lightly fingering Obi-Wan’s hair that seemed undecided about which part of it was going to lay flat and which would stick up.

They parted in silence, but the interaction brought some level of peace to Obi-Wan’s racing mind. He knew that Qui-Gon and him still needed to speak, and that he still needed to ready himself for the brutality of Sh’Tar’va, but there was some measure of control in what he did and that was a relief in itself.

* * *

The pantry was small but well stocked in a variety of foods. Obi-Wan looked around the narrow area, examining the shelves critically, mentally calculating the amount of food available. He relaxed slightly when he confirmed that there would be plenty of supplies to last Qui-Gon for weeks At least there was that. He sat down at the small table in the center of the room, his tunic sleeves brushing the table edge. It felt odd to wear his Jedi clothing again, Obi-Wan had not worn them since traveling through the Duro shipyard with Virmu. He supposed it was pointless to change into them after showering, as he would have to find something else to blend in with the other slaves when he left for Sh’Tar’va, but there was a comfort in wearing the clothes of a Jedi for the time being.

Qui-Gon spooned a vegetable soup into two strange oblong bowls, placing Obi-Wan’s in front of him. Obi-Wan reached for silverware. The sound of Qui-Gon scraping his chair back was loud in the small room. The older man was brooding now, the bond opaque again. Once Qui-Gon sat, he spoke without hesitation.

“I still don’t like this decision.”

Obi-Wan picked up his spoon, dipping it into the soup.

“I know.” He said quietly.

He looked up to see Qui-Gon watching him. The older man’s handsome features would have been severe, almost forbidding, if it were not for the sadness that burned underneath. Qui-Gon reached for his own utensil. The clink of metal silverware against glass dishes was the only sound in the room before Qui-Gon spoke again a few minutes later.

“I understand why it is strategic for you to go alone, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. Sh’Tar’va is an ice planet, you are susceptible to cold. What you told me of the conditions of the camps,” he paused, looking away before glancing back at Obi-Wan “even if you can infiltrate them, how to you expect to find Virmu? You do not share a bond with her, you will not be able to sense where she is.”

Obi-Wan swallowed his first mouthful of hot soup, considering Qui-Gon’s questions. He had expected to be challenged now that Qui-Gon was ready to speak with him. Still, it was uncomfortable to feel the bond like this again, as if Qui-Gon was holding back and allowing only fragments of his emotions through.

“We can track the Trevsins’ location. I will go where their ship has landed. As for the cold, I’ve endured similar climates on other missions. The southern hemisphere on Sh’Tar’va does not have as severe temperatures as the northern camps, it is possible the Trevsins will go there.”

Qui-Gon sat back, crossing his arms, his gaze enigmatic,

“And what if they do not?”

The sharpness of Qui-Gon’s voice cut into Obi-Wan’s defenses. He set his spoon down, inhaling through his nose and forcing his own voice to be calm, surprised at the bitterness that came instead.

“What else can I do, Qui-Gon? I will not listlessly orbit Sh’Tar’Va, waiting for when the Trevsins leave planet to see if Virmu is with them.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, his expression stony, the bond still closed off.

“No, that is what I have to do.” He replied harshly.

Obi-Wan looked at him steadily, his jaw tight from clenching it. His low voice was direct, almost an order when he answered.

“Yes, that is what you have to do.”

They matched gazes for awhile before something in Qui-Gon gave. The older man looked down at the surface at the table, returning to eating, his thoughts turned inward. The anger seeped away, but there was still that unsettled quality to the bond and Obi-Wan felt suddenly very alone and tired without the welcome flow of Qui-Gon’s mind against his own. They ate in silence until Qui-Gon spoke again,

“I know my duty as a Jedi, but when I think of the trauma that you have already suffered… it is not right.”

He hesitated, his strong voice almost faltering. Qui-Gon took a deep breath, pushing his half-full bowl aside.

“I am afraid.” He said plainly and there was a plea there, as there had been in the cockpit earlier, “I don’t want you to have to do this alone.”

His hand reached out, almost without conscious thought, fingers brushing the back of Obi-Wan’s hand, the skin damp from showering. Through touch, emotions condensed in the blocked bond. Obi-Wan inhaled, knowing how hard it was for Qui-Gon to admit his turmoil. There were other intense emotions and thoughts as well but they remained deliberately hidden from Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan looked up at Qui-Gon, his eyes intent. He said nothing. There was nothing that he could say to ease Qui-Gon’s mind. This was something that had to be done. If he allowed his own fear to rise then he would not be able to endure what had to happen. He knew Qui-Gon sensed that. The older Jedi’s brow wrinkled slightly in concern but they went back to eating. The soup felt strange, too substantial for Obi-Wan. He tried not to look at it and made himself eat it even when his mind protested eating when he had just ate the night before.

“What is your plan once you find Virmu?” Qui-Gon finally asked, his voice steady, if restrained.

Obi-Wan lay his spoon down, eyes averted.

“It depends largely on whether or not she is conscious. If she is well, then we may be able to gather more information from the surface. If she is still in a healing trance then it’s important to leave the planet as soon as possible.” He paused, “I can keep contact with you through our bond.”

Qui-Gon sighed, looking away.

“Newly formed bonds take time to develop, Obi-Wan. Most Jedi cannot communicate through a training bond if they are not on the same planet.”

Obi-Wan tilted his head,

“You said we didn’t have a master-apprentice bond.”

Qui-Gon looked at the metal surface of the table, his long hair falling forward over his shoulders.

“I don’t know what we have,” he said quietly, “but I know I can’t lose you.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, his grip tightening on his spoon to prevent the tremble of distress in his hands. The bond was tight with mental anguish and when he spoke his low voice was hesitant, attempting to reassure.

“I’ll survive.”

Qui-Gon looked up at him finally and Obi-Wan saw that beneath the man’s calm exterior he was coming undone.

“At what cost?” Qui-Gon whispered.

Obi-Wan stood abruptly. He approached Qui-Gon’s side and the older man stood as well. They looked at one another. Obi-Wan reached out, gripping Qui-Gon’s arms and pulling the man to him. They embraced tightly, Obi-Wan wrapping his arms around Qui-Gon’s strong back and holding on.

“I don’t know what will happen.” Qui-Gon whispered with a strange sort of fierceness into Obi-Wan’s hair and Obi-Wan held him tighter, hand pressed against Qui-Gon’s spine, cheek against the man’s collarbone.

It was the not knowing that was tearing the older man apart, the fear of separation dwarfed by the awareness that everything was outside of their control and they were no longer able to protect one another. Helplessness and despair rose, the bond building between them with emotion too long held back and Qui-Gon slowly drew away, mentally waiting for Obi-Wan to distance himself, to raise shields as the younger man always did. Obi-Wan stood still though, arms loosely wrapped around Qui-Gon’s waist, braving the feel of their pent up emotions crashing over them like waves. He opened his mind fully and Qui-Gon retreated further, attempting to block the bond to give Obi-Wan the mental privacy that Obi-Wan needed. Obi-Wan followed Qui-Gon instead.

 _Let me know you,_ he whispered through the bond and he felt Qui-Gon hesitate,

_It is too much, you will be –_

He interrupted Qui-Gon’s protest,

_I told you I am with you. Let me be with you._

Qui-Gon trembled in the circle of Obi-Wan’s arms. Slowly, the older man released his shields. Emotion thundered through them, Qui-Gon’s fear at being unable to keep him safe, his anger at the Trevsins and the Sh’kil, his despair at Obi-Wan returning to slavery, his concern that everything would be lost. Inside such chaos, there was a sense of light rising through the darkness of tangled fear and worry and Obi-Wan held still and withstood it and found that it strengthened him to have Qui-Gon’s emotions washing through him.

Their bond flooded over with the weight of concern, the all encompassing warmth of love, the sting of longing, the need to comfort, to touch. That last emotion was strange to them both, and it was only now that Obi-Wan found that he could quantify it as desire and recognize it in himself as well. It pulsed through them like a separate heartbeat, almost overwhelming inside their shared mental place. The bond glowed, more powerful than he had thought possible, hampered only by that last barrier of need.

Obi-Wan looked up into dark blue eyes that watched him intently. Qui-Gon’s lips were parted in breath, his gaze searching, his hands gentle as he touched Obi-Wan’s shoulders, his face. Obi-Wan reached up, drawing Qui-Gon’s forehead down against his own, eyes closing, arms embracing. They stood there for a moment, mentally comforting and reassuring. The need for more contact, for relearning one another through closeness and intimacy sparked through them and Obi-Wan moved slightly, taking Qui-Gon’s mouth with his own. Qui-Gon cupped the younger man’s jaw, returning the kiss with infinite care.

It was minutes later when they parted, still sharing breaths in the space between their mouths. Qui-Gon pulled back enough that he could look Obi-Wan in the eye. A silent question was there, humming through both of them. Obi-Wan reached out, touching a high cheekbone, thin lips, the feathery sensation of the man’s beard. He tilted his head, his cold fingertips stilled, resting against the slender paleness of Qui-Gon’s throat.

“Yes” he said simply.

* * *

The _Zar Ka_ had four cabins, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon entered the first one they found. It was small, sparse of furniture and lit with soft blue interior lights, as was custom of the Duros. A long narrow window ran the length of one wall showing darkness broken only by the pinpricks of distant stars. Qui-Gon turned to look at Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan thought how beautiful the older man was, full of undeniable powerful and grace.

There seemed to be no words for this, only a silent acknowledgement of what they felt. Their mouths opened to one another, Qui-Gon’s hands resting on his waist, the bond suffused with warmth, anticipation, and the slight uncertainty of unfamiliarity. Obi-Wan’s hand moved down Qui-Gon’s arm, touching the larger fingers that tangled instantly with his own. They stood apart for a moment longer, studying one another.

Qui-Gon stepped back, still holding Obi-Wan’s hands. He moved backward a few paces until he sat on the edge of the narrow bed, Obi-Wan standing in front of him. Qui-Gon reached up to brush fingers over the younger man’s padawan braid. His hands came again to Obi-Wan’s waist. Each motion was careful, eyes and hands pausing for permission. Obi-Wan nodded and felt his breath catch in his throat as Qui-Gon unfastened Obi-Wan’s utility belt, setting it carefully to the side. Strong gentle hands smoothed over Obi-Wan’s stomach, loosening the sash there.

Obi-Wan stood still, content to have Qui-Gon undress him slowly as if unwrapping a gift. Off-white tunic layers were carefully shed, Qui-Gon pausing at the last one to unwind the binding around Obi-Wan’s wrists before gently pulling the lightweight tunic over Obi-Wan’s head. Obi-Wan wore only a loose undershirt now. He shivered in the warm room as Qui-Gon reached out, running the side of his thumb over the slightly crooked slant of Obi-Wan’s left collarbone. The bond hesitated, sorrow dispersing there as Qui-Gon gently turned Obi-Wan’s upper body. Obi-Wan looked at him, watching as Qui-Gon gazed at the large Sh’kil crest tattooed on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and arm. He did not touch the geometric design, only examined it before looking up at Obi-Wan with an unreadable expression, his bright eyes vividly blue in the room and Obi-Wan saw that the man was near tears.

Obi-Wan did not know what to say or do to hold back the terrible sorrow, the knowledge that they had only a few hours before Obi-Wan would have to leave. He trembled, recalling his anger earlier, his refusal to accept the bond at first because he would endanger Qui-Gon. _I won’t bring you into that oblivion_ , he had said and saw only now that that was what he was doing, that they both were and Qui-Gon was yielding to the logic of it, was having to accept that Obi-Wan needed to find Virmu, needed to return to Sh’Tar’va.

The desire to touch was fueling both of them, but more importantly it was comfort they sought in one another and the permanent need to care for each other. It was there in how Qui-Gon touched him, looked at him, how he bent his head and pressed his lips to the black inked skin of Obi-Wan’s arm. Obi-Wan blinked, feeling the bittersweetness of the moment as something almost unbearable. Qui-Gon turned his head, resting his cheek against Obi-Wan’s chest and Obi-Wan folded arms around the man’s broad shoulders. Qui-Gon was trembling slightly, the bond bright with a thousand sparks of thought. Obi-Wan carded fingers through Qui-Gon’s thick silvered mane. Their bond was tightening with fear and worry and they stayed still, silent, until the feelings faded into the Force and some semblance of peace fell over them again. Qui-Gon exhaled heavily before pulling back, Obi-Wan’s hand still in his hair. He settled his hands on Obi-Wan’s hips and Obi-Wan stepped closer to him. Qui-Gon stared up at him, eyes trailing over Obi-Wan’s face as if memorizing it.

The bond was building again with the almost painful need to hold and be held. Obi-Wan bent down, kissing the older man’s warm mouth, hearing Qui-Gon’s soft noise of surprise melt into contentment. They did not want to separate and Qui-Gon’s hands moved blindly, carefully tugging Obi-Wan’s undershirt up. The brush of hands over bare skin was both arousing and startling. Obi-Wan moved into the touch, seeking more without knowing. He parted from the kiss only enough so that Qui-Gon could get the undershirt off. With his upper body exposed now, Obi-Wan felt earlier shyness return and Qui-Gon pulled back, cheeks flushed, his lips wet, slightly swollen. The older man looked at him, tentatively touching Obi-Wan’s side where his rib was still healing, a fading bruise there.

Obi-Wan knew his body was hardly remarkable. As a Jedi he had undergone years of physical training but remained almost boyishly slender with little muscle except for a slight wiriness in his limbs. His shoulders were small, his posture straight. His ribs were perhaps more evident than they should be. He was extraordinarily pale, as his skin had rarely been exposed to planetary suns over the last few years. Light freckles swirled over his throat and shoulders, the blue light catching the white undertone of his skin and making faint scars from distant missions more visible. Qui-Gon’s hand was a warm weight against his side. The man looked at him, his expression deep, full of meaning. Obi-Wan gave a small smile and Qui-Gon’s gaze softened, his hand gliding over Obi-Wan’s shoulders, sides, stomach. A single finger ran down the red-brown padawan braid that draped over Obi-Wan’s chest, sending a shiver through them both.

Qui-Gon slid his arms around Obi-Wan, pausing as his palm brushed over the younger Jedi’s back. There was a jolt of something in their bond and Obi-Wan bit his lip, feeling Qui-Gon’s fingers still there. Abruptly, Qui-Gon stood, moving around Obi-Wan. His hand retreated, then returned, tracing the long jagged line across the shoulder blades, moving down to trace another and another.

“You were whipped.” He said quietly, voice almost devoid of emotion except for the faintest tremble, outrage and despair drifting in their bond.

“Yes.” Obi-Wan replied softly, thinking it strange to be speaking of this now.

Qui-Gon’s palm smoothed over his spine, the touch comforting, reaching with the Force.

“On Sh’Tar’va.”

It was a statement, not a question and Obi-Wan dipped his head in a nod. He thought perhaps that Qui-Gon would retreat further, but the man gathered him close instead, long arms folding over Obi-Wan’s bare stomach, head bending to press a kiss to the curve of where Obi-Wan’s shoulder met his neck.

They did not speak again and after awhile Obi-Wan turned in Qui-Gon’s arms, unbuckling the man’s utility belt. Qui-Gon stood back to give him more room to maneuver as Obi-Wan tugged the top tunic layer off with eager resolve. He unwound the bandaging on Qui-Gon’s forearms, pushing the loose tunic sleeve up on Qui-Gon’s left arm and kissing the man’s bare wrist.

Qui-Gon closed the short distance between them, framing Obi-Wan’s face and licking into the man’s mouth with sudden passion. Warm lips pressed down Obi-Wan’s neck, and Obi-Wan tilted his head back, gasping at the sparks of need traveling through the open bond. When they drew away, they were both breathless, Obi-Wan quickly pulling off the last of Qui-Gon’s tunics. He studied the man with serious eyes before gesturing for Qui-Gon to sit. The older Jedi did so and Obi-Wan took off the man’s boots and socks, kicking his own off and gently guiding Qui-Gon to lay back on the dark gray sheets. Qui-Gon’s breath hitched slightly as Obi-Wan climbed over him, kneeling above him.

Qui-Gon’s eyes were a dark radiant blue and Obi-Wan paused, reaching out and laying a hand gently on the man’s cheek, feeling the soft press of their bare torsos fill the bond with warmth. When he was sixteen, Obi-Wan had seen a distant nebula while piloting Virmu and him to a diplomatic mission. The nebula had been only vague clouds of stardust, but the color of it had been that same shade of blue, rich, dark, but with the inner gleam seen in gemstones. On his own time, Obi-Wan had researched the nebula and found that it had once been a solar system that had collapsed when its sun imploded billions of years ago. Now it was reforming from the same remnants.

He knew Qui-Gon sensed his sudden pensiveness because the man drew Obi-Wan down, kissing him again, exploring Obi-Wan’s mouth until the younger man trembled above him, a low noise escaping his throat. Obi-Wan ran his palm over the expanse of Qui-Gon’s shoulder and along the collarbones and sternum, feeling the older Jedi arch slightly into his touch. The intimacy of even their minds brushing together shocked and compelled him all at once. Obi-Wan had never felt desire before, not in this way. Jedi processed each unknown feeling and dismissed that which was irrelevant. Desire was not allowed, it was irrelevant. But this, this was more then he had thought want could be. He needed Qui-Gon and felt answering need wash through their racing bond.

Qui-Gon’s hands resettled on Obi-Wan’s hips and the younger Jedi murmured approval as Qui-Gon gently unfastened Obi-Wan’s pants, pushing the thin fabric down and then the lightweight leggings. He rolled Obi-Wan off him carefully, sitting up so that he could pull the tangle of cloth off the man’s legs. Obi-Wan looked up at him, naked except for the simple white underwear he wore. The room was warm enough that he did not feel cold, only strange heated excitement echoing in the bond as Qui-Gon touched his cheek, tracing the small rounded shell of Obi-Wan’s ear.

Always they were aware that their moments together were fleeting, that even if Obi-Wan returned with Virmu, they would have the Council to face. The inevitable separation was too terrible to consider and they moved around that issue, falling into the need to not lose such time. _Live in the moment_ , Obi-Wan thought wryly and saw Qui-Gon smile slightly.

It was Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan felt, who made this intimacy intriguing and beautiful so that the memories that Obi-Wan feared would return at the touch of another man did not intrude. Obi-Wan looked up at the man, studying the older face, wanting this moment to stretch infinitely between them. Qui-Gon held him lightly, the man’s bare arms warm, inviting and Obi-Wan moved with the same amount of care as he slid the rest of Qui-Gon’s clothing off. He paused, watching the light shine against the older Jedi’s shoulders, radiant on the man’s thick loose hair.

Qui-Gon smiled again and reached out, fingers moving over Obi-Wan’s chest and down the ribcage, skirting the slight bruising still there along the side, touching the stomach, tracing narrow hips. The need to touch was impossible to hold back. They needed to know each other in this way, Obi-Wan reaching, palms running over a long smooth back. he stroked the angle of large shoulder blades, experiencing the sudden vulnerability of feeling the vertebrae of the man’s spine beneath his questing hands.

Qui-Gon knelt over him, his face lit by the soft blue light and the distant gleam of stars. Obi-Wan had seen the man in the same lighting on Duro, but not in this way, not with skin laid bare, pale and close to his own. Qui-Gon’s torso was muscular without bulkiness, his smooth chest defined but not overly so. He was thinner than Obi-Wan had first thought, with a compelling body frame. Tall, broad shouldered with a narrow waist, he was long legged, with large hands and feet. He moved with the grace and confidence of a Jedi, his expression gentle. Obi-Wan lay a palm over the man’s strong thigh, careful with the large bruise still there from their chase in the shipyards. The bond hummed with exhilaration as they touched one another. Qui-Gon looked down at him. Obi-Wan had never thought himself exceptional, but through the bond he felt Qui-Gon’s emotions stand still, as if Qui-Gon was seeing something too beautiful to express with words, something that only could be understood through the press and slide of their hands, their bodies.

The bond connected them in countless ways, emotion rushing through them and Obi-Wan clung to the desire and the happiness, determined not to think about letting go of Qui-Gon. He kissed the older man deeply, hearing Qui-Gon gasp, then moan. The soft noise pulled at Obi-Wan and he felt himself respond to it. He was unable to feel shyness over his arousal any longer, he wanted the other man fiercely and the bond twisted with the same intensity from Qui-Gon. Hands moved to Obi-Wan’s hips and the younger man lifted them slightly to make it easier for Qui-Gon to slide Obi-Wan’s underwear off so that they were both entirely naked, pale bodies gleaming from the warmth of the room and each other.

Qui-Gon’s beard brushed against Obi-Wan’s throat, the man kissing him hard there, Obi-Wan murmuring. They exchanged deep wet kisses, bodies pressed close and Obi-Wan realized with a thrill that Qui-Gon was aroused as well, the man releasing the control Jedi were taught at a young age and capturing Obi-Wan’s lips again, his strong body still extremely gentle. There was a rightness to this, to the way Qui-Gon held onto him, to how Obi-Wan stroked his palm down Qui-Gon’s flat abdomen, fingers brushing a small scar there that he would ask about some day. He touched Qui-Gon shyly, brushing lightly over the man’s erect shaft and Qui-Gon inhaled, eyes widening at the sharp burst of pleasure, Obi-Wan gasping as well as it echoed back to him in the bond.

They were both somewhat awkward. Jedi were educated on the basics of sexual and reproductive health but they were forbidden from engaging in physical contact with others. Neither of them had risked relationships until now and though Obi-Wan had experienced the humiliation and pain of abuse at the hands of guards and slavers, he had not known what it would be like to be touched in love. They rediscovered one another in this way, sprawled on dark sheets, the soft rush of air from the ship’s heater feathering over their skin. Obi-Wan kissed Qui-Gon’s throat, lips trailing down the smooth chest, the two men mapping each other’s bodies with hands and mouths until any uncertainty faded.

Obi-Wan felt a emotion both divine and primal driving them on. He found he enjoyed touching Qui-Gon and being touched in turn. Qui-Gon was still very gentle with him, fingers carefully stroking Obi-Wan when he first took the younger man’s erection in his palm, shifting to cup the younger man’s genitals, swallowing Obi-Wan’s gasps as they kissed.

It was unclear how much time passed, Obi-Wan realized he did not care. His universe now only existed of Qui-Gon, hearing the soft sounds the man made when touched, responding to them as Qui-Gon returned each caress. It seemed impossible that new levels of ecstasy existed, but a certain movement or touch would jar a hot brilliance through them again and the bond would amplify with desire. Somewhere there came a pause and Obi-Wan opened eyes that had fallen closed, looking up at Qui-Gon. They watched one another for a long time and then Obi-Wan spoke, his voice hoarse, intent.

“Do you want-“

“Yes.” Qui-Gon interrupted him, hands trembling with that now bone-deep need as he leaned over the younger Jedi and Obi-Wan nodded shakily,

“We’ll need some sort of lubricant.” He mumbled matter-of-factly and made to get up but Qui-Gon gently pushed him back down.

“I’ll find something.” He whispered, leaning down to kiss Obi-Wan before climbing off the bed, unconcerned by his nudity, oblivious to his grace and beauty.

Obi-Wan lay on the narrow bed, breathless, warm with anticipation and the emotions flowing thorough the open bond. He turned his head, looking out at the emptiness of space. He did not think about Sh’Tar’va now, or the pain of separation. He thought of Qui-Gon, the man’s long silvered hair in his hands, Qui-Gon gasping, almost whimpering when Obi-Wan had touched him earlier. He wanted to remember each moment, to know how it felt to have Qui-Gon naked next to him, to memorize the way the man’s body curved around his own when they slept. It was nothing he had ever thought he would have, or ever wanted to, but now he longed to have Qui-Gon besides him forever.

Qui-Gon returned, footsteps silent as he moved into the room, setting a small vial of massage oil on the end table near the bed. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and Obi-Wan propped himself up on an elbow, watching Qui-Gon who looked at him, the almost invisible lights of thousands of stars reflecting in his eyes.

“Neither one of us has done this before,” he said calmly with a hint of shyness, pushing a hand through his thick hair and thinking over something, “perhaps-“

Obi-Wan sat up,

“I want you.” he insisted.

Qui-Gon opened his mouth and Obi-Wan caught it in a kiss instead,

“I want to make love with you.” He whispered against the man’s parted lips and felt Qui-Gon shudder, the bond alight.

They tumbled unto the bed, Obi-Wan welcoming the weight of Qui-Gon over him, devouring that warm mouth, hands sliding up Qui-Gon’s ribcage, over a broad chest that heaved beneath his touch.

“Please.”

He was unsure, even afterwards who said the word, knew only that he was going to fall apart if he did not have Qui-Gon holding him, kissing him, gently opening Obi-Wan’s thighs. Hands that Obi-Wan knew so well by now touched his legs, Qui-Gon leaning down to kiss him, pulling back as if still seeking permission, waiting. Obi-Wan nodded breathlessly, he slid a leg up over Qui-Gon’s hip to allow more room, hearing the man’s breath catch slightly. Qui-Gon kissed him again, lips soft, as careful as his fingers that moved higher up the inside of Obi-Wan’s thigh.

One large finger touched him gently, the slightly callused pad softened by the slick of oil now. It circled his entrance, the muscle there tensing slightly at the strangeness of such a sensation. Pleasure was swirling through the bond, Obi-Wan gasping softly into Qui-Gon’s mouth, surprised at how the man’s touch was now both soothing and arousing. There was still some awkwardness, neither of them knew what to expect exactly, but there was this need to touch, to be close to one another, to not let go of this moment or any moment that followed. Obi-Wan pressed his mouth to Qui-Gon’s neck, teeth carefully scraping the soft spot beneath the man’s jaw, hearing Qui-Gon moan, the man’s other hand grasping his hip lightly.

Qui-Gon’s long hair fell around his shoulders as he sat back, in the humidity of the room it was a mane, wild and graying. They looked at one another, Obi-Wan’s lips parted in breath as the sweet sensation of Qui-Gon touching him continued. He arched his hips slightly without realizing. Qui-Gon met his eyes, a question there, silent but heard in the bond and Obi-Wan nodded, offering a small smile. Qui-Gon bent to kiss him, his hand retreating momentarily, returning even slicker as Qui-Gon gently pressed the tip of his index finger inside Obi-Wan. A sound escaped Obi-Wan, he wasn’t sure at first and Qui-Gon stilled. It felt strange again, as it had when Qui-Gon first touched him. but the feeling of Qui-Gon leaning over him, kissing his shoulder lightly, the intimate slide of their touching skin in the warm room felt good, better then Obi-Wan had thought it possible to feel. His muscles relaxed once more and he shifted, moving his leg up higher over Qui-Gon’s hip. Qui-Gon continued pressing his finger into Obi-Wan, slowly with careful pauses. Their bond was glowing with erotic joy, their pleasure unfolding towards one another.

Obi-Wan knew that Qui-Gon wanted him, could feel the other man’s hardness press against him, the sensation thrilling, but there was no rushed urgency that Obi-Wan had worried about. The bond demanded this soft exploration as much as it demanded a full joining. It did not matter when they reached that point tonight and Obi-Wan was relieved to feel that he was not losing any sense of control and that Qui-Gon was waiting often for his reassurance through the bond.

The sensation of entering was foreign to them both and Qui-Gon moved even more carefully, his finger easing past the second knuckle. Obi-Wan gasped, hips rising almost involuntarily now. He found he both needed and wanted the pressure inside him to continue as Qui-Gon brushed against something that made Obi-Wan gasp again, a sharp burst of ecstasy soaking into their bond. Qui-Gon paused then repeated the sensual motion and Obi-Wan quivered, inhaling sharply. The older man’s lips found his own and only then did Obi-Wan realize that he had closed his eyes. Blindly he returned the kisses, taking Qui-Gon’s bearded jaw in one hand and holding it firm so that Obi-Wan could kiss him deeper.

The movement of Qui-Gon’s finger came again and Obi-Wan felt another silent question slide through their bond. He nodded again. Qui-Gon shifted, carefully withdrawing his finger. Obi-Wan ran his palm over Qui-Gon’s back, the skin damp and warm. He lay back on the bed, raising his lower body slightly. Qui-Gon’s hand returned, newly slick, and this time it was two fingers that worked into Obi-Wan carefully, stilling at every gasp the younger man gave until Obi-Wan pushed back against the motion. It was still slightly strange, still somewhat difficult with the size of Qui-Gon’s fingers, but the rushing pleasure increased and Qui-Gon made a soft humming noise as he pressed a kiss into Obi-Wan’s auburn hair. The man’s wet fingers rotated slightly and Obi-Wan moaned as they brushed against that sensitive area inside him. Qui-Gon gently moved his fingers apart, stretching where muscle was tense and Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He was tight, having never been penetrated before, but Qui-Gon was extremely gentle, pausing often, kissing him and waiting for Obi-Wan’s permission to continue in their bond.

He did not know how long Qui-Gon took to prepare him, but they were both aching and hard and Obi-Wan arched his hips into the press of now three fingers, gasping and ready. When Qui-Gon eased his fingers out again, Obi-Wan pulled him down and kissed him, taking the man’s lower lip gently between his teeth, tongue delving into the warmth there. A tight sound came from deep in Qui-Gon’s throat as Obi-Wan reached between the tangle of their bodies, touching Qui-Gon’s thick erection. Obi-Wan’s other hand fumbled over the smooth sheets and found the vial of oil, stroking it on Qui-Gon who moaned into his mouth, his stronger body shivering as Obi-Wan slid his palm along the man’s shaft, the sensitive skin deliciously slippery now.

The moments afterwards remained in pieces of images and sensations, the distant gleam of stars and blue lights, the feel of the _Zar Ka’s_ engines running beneath them, the twisted sheets and Qui-Gon’s long hair clinging to their damp skin. Obi-Wan wrapped his legs around Qui-Gon’s waist, felt Qui-Gon position himself, reaching through the bond for him, holding him. Obi-Wan gasped as the head of Qui-Gon’s penis slid into him, thighs tightening automatically around the older man’s hips. Qui-Gon stilled as Obi-Wan struggled to adjust. It wasn’t painful so much as it was overwhelming to feel Qui-Gon inside him like this, to be so intimately connected. Their hands tangled together, fingers entwining tightly, Qui-Gon’s mouth pressing against the underside of Obi-Wan’s jaw, his throat and crooked collarbones. Pleasure was blooming through their bond, reverberating through them and Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon tremble from holding still.

“It’s alright.” he gasped and Qui-Gon began to move carefully, drawing muted groans from both of them.

Heat and joy merged into one, Obi-Wan inhaling as Qui-Gon slid in much further, the larger man panting, his pupils dilated with the blissful contact of their bodies shuddering to the same motions. Obi-Wan clung to Qui-Gon, fingers tightening against Qui-Gon’s palms, soft sounds rising from him as the man began to thrust slowly and deeply. The bond was surging with intensity that Obi-Wan had not thought possible. The feel of Qui-Gon on top of him and inside of him set him ablaze and he pushed back into each thrust, gazing wide-eyed at Qui-Gon who moaned above him.

Gasps and low murmurs came from them both, Qui-Gon’s hips rocking into his. Fragmented words broke through their bond, _beautiful, love, need_ , the mindspace overflowing with undeniable happiness. There was the burning urge to go further, harder, but it was tempered by the ache to comfort and Qui-Gon lay him back against the rumpled bedding and took Obi-Wan with gentle motions, his shaft sliding against something that caused Obi-Wan to buck beneath him and cry out.

Then it was all a blinding haze, Obi-Wan unsure of anything but the way Qui-Gon held him, thrust into him faster. Their mouths met in messy kisses, the bond pulling at both of them, Qui-Gon calling out, hips stuttering and Obi-Wan arched at the hot rush of seed within him, inner muscles contracting and Qui-Gon’s voice was soft now, almost desperate as he whispered Obi-Wan’s name. The man’s orgasm exploded through the bond, flooding through Obi-Wan so that all he knew was a brilliant rush of light, a blur of sensation on the edge of too much and ecstasy beyond his capability to comprehend. The bond took them both apart as the whirl of emotion flew back and forth between them, finally fading into dazed exhaustion and joy.

It seemed a long while before Obi-Wan was aware of his surroundings again. The room was warm, damp sheets sticking to his skin. They were on their sides now, Qui-Gon curled half over him and around him, the gesture both vulnerable and protective.

Obi-Wan slid his arms limply across the man’s strong back, flexing fingers that ached from how tightly their hands had been clenched. His breaths still came quickly, his mind spinning from the overpowering ecstasy that still drifted at the edges of their bond. The bond itself was even stronger now, connecting them in so many ways that Obi-Wan trembled, stunned by the beauty of it.

Qui-Gon sighed, shifting against Obi-Wan and slowly opening his eyes. His face was soft with contentment and astonishment. Obi-Wan touched the man’s bottom lip and Qui-Gon reached out, stroking a hand through Obi-Wan’s unruly hair, entwining the padawan braid in his fingers. He looked happier than Obi-Wan had ever seen him, gaze almost youthful with tranquility. His hair was messy and fell half in his face and Obi-Wan brushed it aside, loving him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok…well there you go :) I believe that is the longest sexual scene I have written for Obi/Qui in ages. I hope it doesn’t seem too jarring or ooc, it was in my outline since the very beginning. I should ask though, do you guys think I should change the rating from Mature to Explicit now? I’m not sure myself, so let me know what you think. 
> 
> Also, Steampunkish Obi-Wan fixing stuff!! I couldn’t resist…


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I apologize that this chapter took three weeks, as opposed to two. I’m really struggling to keep up with this semester’s work at college, and keep updating regularly. I appreciate your patience :) as it is, this chapter is another very long chapter and well worth the wait. Again, it is from Obi-Wan’s pov, and though I know the fic is appropriately tagged, I’m going to give a TRIGGER WARNING here because there is graphic content. Nothing noncon in this chapter, but we are getting to the angsty parts of the plot, so this chapter does have some really dark moments in it. please let me know what you think.

Obi-Wan stood, looking at the mirrored panel on the wall of the _Zar Ka’s_ small bathroom. The steam from his shower was dissipating slowly enough that his naked reflection was emerging in pieces. Obi-Wan studied the exposure of his pale face and shoulders. A faint bruise rested beneath his cleanly shaven jaw. He touched the area with the tip of his finger, recalling Qui-Gon kissing him there during their lovemaking. And afterward, when they had both been overwhelmed by it all, Qui-Gon had pulled him close and kissed him again, holding to Obi-Wan as if he would never let go. Obi-Wan took a deep breath, looking away. The shift of the _Zar Ka’s_ engines into lightspeed had alerted them to the limited amount of time they had. As much as they had both wanted to linger, there were things that needed to be done before their arrival at Sh’Tar’va.

Obi-Wan looked down at the shelf that ran below the bathroom mirror, his scarred fingers gripping the smooth metal edge, feeling warm air rush over his bare skin from the ship’s heater. He felt strange, emotionally as well as physically. Part of him could not reconcile the joy he had experienced with Qui-Gon with the pain that would come as soon as he returned to Sh’Tar’va. He felt a contradiction of emotions too vast to describe. He was terrified that he would lose control on Sh’Tar’va and descend into that machine-like coldness where nothing mattered but removing the thing that threatened him.

He looked up again, watching as the harsh lighting in the room highlighted his cheekbones and the shadows beneath his eyes. He felt as if layers of who he was had been peeled away, exposing youth and steely resolve. Obi-Wan did not want to return to the camps. The cold darkness was unthinkable after knowing happiness in Qui-Gon’s arms. He moved his hand to the cream-colored Jedi tunics that lay neatly folded on the shelf, fingering the utility belt, the lightweight fabric of a sleeve. It had been freeing, to have Qui-Gon undress him, removing the cloth that symbolized his loyalty to the Order until they were only two men, with no ranks or Jedi vows to keep them apart.

He closed his eyes momentarily, avoiding his reflection and considering what he would have to do when they reached Sh’Tar’va. He would take an escape pod to the surface, near whichever camp the Trevsin ship had landed near. He would find Virmu, even if it meant infiltrating Sh’kil headquarters. He would escape with her and return to Qui-Gon. In that time Qui-Gon would try to repair the ship’s shields and firepower, as well as scan what information he could from orbiting Sh’Tar’va. The _Zar Ka_ did have a cloaking device, but Obi-Wan still worried about leaving Qui-Gon in a defenseless ship.

He thought of the older man, so near for only a short time longer. Their minds met, tangled and separated, only to come back again. The bond moved fluidly from one thought to another. He found it no longer disoriented him so that he had to shield from it. They had shared more than each other in their lovemaking. The bond now went deeper than he thought possible between two separate Force sensitives and that filled him with an odd mix of contentment and fear. He was comforted by Qui-Gon’s thoughts and emotions touching his own but he was deeply afraid about what would happen if he had to mentally attack another individual on Sh’Tar’va. It had almost destroyed him to do so when he was a child and though he was older and more trained in the Force now, his mind was intimately connected to Qui-Gon’s. The man would experience what Obi-Wan did, he would know how it felt when someone died within his grasp.

Obi-Wan looked down at the dark metal floor, his reflection distorted. He knew the risks of returning to enslavement. He did not fear dying, but he was afraid of how the bond would react if something were to happen to him. Would the bond die with him, or would it take Qui-Gon as well? He inhaled sharply, determinedly pushing his fear aside. He needed to focus, to think of this only as a mission that had to be completed.

His short hair was already drying in the warm moist air of the room. Obi-Wan touched the strands, moving his fingertips to the slender wet padawan braid that hung to his waist; the braid symbolized his apprenticeship more than anything else, only upon knighthood would it be cut and presented to his master in a ceremony that had barely changed in the dozens of centuries that the Jedi Order had existed. Only two bands marked it, a single bead. Virmu had not seen many circumstances to reward his accomplishments.

Obi-Wan reached for his utility belt on the metal shelf, unhooking one of the small pouches there. He kept his gaze on his reflection, expressionless as he pulled out and flipped open the small serviceable knife Jedi carried. He wrapped the thin length of his braid in his fingers, recalling Qui-Gon doing the same thing merely an hour ago. He paused only for a moment before slipping the knife carefully behind his ear and sawing at the wet strands. It took less then three seconds for his padawan braid to be severed. Obi-Wan set aside the knife, unwrapping one of the slender orange bands along the braid and using it to tie the cut end. he picked the knife up again, reaching to the back of his scalp to cut the longer chunk of hair he had tied back in a tail. He brushed the loose strands from his skin, dropping them near his braid on the counter.

His reflection blinked. Obi-Wan reached up, combing fingers through his hair absently. It was all more or less the same length now, short enough that it still stuck up quite a bit, but long enough that it lay flat in some areas. Obi-Wan tilted his head. Naked, with his tattoo visible, he did not look like a Jedi padawan anymore. He did not look like a Jedi at all. He nodded sternly, it was all he had to effectively disguise him, that and the invisibility of being a slave. He swept the bits of loose hair into the room’s trash system. Only his braid remained on the smooth metal counter, the reddish texture of it shining in the white light.

Obi-Wan stepped back, reaching for the clothing he had found in the storage room. He knew that most slaves wore what they could find, as there was rarely enough clothes to go around. He would be risking too much if he wore more than the loose black pants he pulled on and the dark blue, almost black undershirt. Both were originally made for a Durosian, but fit him well as the Duros were built slight and somewhat shorter than the height of most human men. Boots, he would go without. Slaves went barefoot in the mines and camps.

The Duro’s had not left weapons, but Obi-Wan had found a blaster holster and with some slight adjustment was able to conceal his lightsaber in the sheath for the blaster’s nozzle. He rolled up the pant leg on his left leg, strapping the holster to his bare thigh. It was slightly inconvenient, but there was no other way he could conceal his lightsaber, neither the shirt or pants had adequate pockets and he needed to have full mobility in the mines, his pants were loose enough that the weapons holster was not noticeable. Obi-Wan’s green-blue eyes narrowed in thought. He did not know if he would be able to endure the cold, let alone the terrible conditions of the camps. But any more layers would single him out. The Sh’kil would be suspicious and he would draw unwelcome attention from the guards and other slaves.

He moved to brush aside his padawan braid and paused at the empty air there now. His reflection looked stern, almost grim and Obi-Wan closed his eyes suddenly wanting to be back in Qui-Gon’s arms. He felt Qui-Gon’s mind touch his readily, the bond powerful and comforting and Obi-Wan reached back into the Force, sending reassurance. He opened his eyes, pausing for only a moment to glimpse the slender stranger in the mirror before turning and leaving the room.  
* * *

When Obi-Wan silently entered the _Zar Ka’s_ dark cockpit, Qui-Gon turned automatically in the pilot’s seat. The older man paused, taking in Obi-Wan’s dark nondescript clothing and bare feet. Obi-Wan stepped forward, noticing how Qui-Gon’s gaze swept upwards, stopping at Obi-Wan’s right ear where his braid used to hang. Obi-Wan extended his hand, offering the severed braid to Qui-Gon. Silently the older man took it and Obi-Wan felt the sudden surrealness of experiencing this moment that was only ever exchanged between master and apprentice. He looked out the cockpit viewscreen, watching stars streak by as they traveled through lightspeed.

“If something happens and Virmu is rescued without me,” he said quietly, still not looking at Qui-Gon, “I wish for you to give her this.” He gestured to the braid and turned his head slightly in the man’s direction.

The older Jedi’s face was shadowed by the lack of light but Obi-Wan sensed his thoughts in the bond, watching Qui-Gon’s fingers touch the severed braid.

“It is an honor,” Qui-Gon finally spoke, and Obi-Wan heard everything he could possibly want in that voice.

He stepped closer to the older man, Qui-Gon lifting his head to meet Obi-Wan’s mouth as Obi-Wan bent and kissed him. Strong fingers ran through Obi-Wan’s short hair, feeling the places that had been cut, moving automatically to touch behind the ear where Obi-Wan’s braid had been. There was a pause, then Qui-Gon’s fingers stroked the round curve of Obi-Wan’s small ear, sliding down to rest against his shoulder. Obi-Wan pressed a kiss to the man’s cheek before pulling back. He sat down in the co pilot’s chair, watching as Qui-Gon carefully coiled the braid and slipped it into his cloak pocket. They reached silently for one another, hands clasping in the space between their chairs, needing to hold on for a little while longer.

“We’ll arrive at Sh’Tar’va soon,” Qui-Gon said suddenly, using his other hand to adjust controls.

Obi-Wan nodded.

“The Trevsins should be easy to track,” he said quietly, “ but you’ll want to readjust shield powers in case you come in contact with another Trevsin ship.”

Qui-Gon pushed a hand through his long hair, it was still loose, tangled from earlier and Obi-Wan felt something almost like pain at the sight, knowing he was risking losing everything for this. If he didn’t come back, if the trauma was too much…he shook his head, he did not think he would ever forget Qui-Gon and what the man meant to him, but he did not know what returning to Sh’Tar’va might do to him. If he was unstable once more...Qui-Gon could be in danger because of the bond. Obi-Wan turned his gaze to the console, ignoring the fear pounding through him and concentrated instead on Qui-Gon’s hand in his, their Force presences’ swirling together.

“We don’t have much firepower left. I won’t last in another battle,” Qui-Gon said softly.

The older man sat back in his chair, he was deep in thought, the bond rising with it, arcing between them in a thousand different connections.

“Will we be able to do this?” Qui-Gon asked abruptly, Obi-Wan tilted his head and Qui-Gon sighed, keeping his gaze on the stars rushing past them. “We won’t be anywhere near each other, you’ll have to find a way to escape with Virmu, while I try to avoid detection in Sh’Tar’va’s orbit.”

Obi-Wan looked at him, though he could not fully see Qui-Gon in the shadows.

“I don’t know,” he answered quietly.

Qui-Gon said nothing, his grip tightening on Obi-Wan’s hand. In the darkness, Obi-Wan’s other senses were sharpened, he heard the familiar sound of Qui-Gon’s breathing, the man’s fingers strong against his own. He recalled vividly how Qui-Gon had looked when they had been together, the astonishment and happiness and love in the man’s dark blue eyes, the way his long hair had gotten into his face and Obi-Wan had reached up and tucked loose strands behind Qui-Gon’s ear as the man had thrust inside him, and the feel of Qui-Gon’s skin, the sounds he had made when touched… The realness of the memory was intensified by Qui-Gon reciprocating through the bond, but there was a sadness that had not been there in the moment, weighed down with the ever-present fear of separation.

Obi-Wan sat forward, moving his hand to Qui-Gon’s forearm, his bicep, his shoulder, Qui-Gon leaned into the touch and captured Obi-Wan’s hand with his, drawing Obi-Wan to him. They embraced awkwardly, as Qui-Gon was still sitting.

“I can’t lose you,” Qui-Gon whispered against Obi-Wan’s throat and Obi-Wan inhaled softly, unable to reassure the man.

The computer console beeped and Obi-Wan turned, watching as the streak of stars jolted into motionless space. A small white planet hung in the distance, far enough away that he could almost avoid seeing it. Obi-Wan’s chest tightened, his lungs finding it difficult to bring in air. He looked at the floor, locking his trembling hands together. Fear and anger warred inside him at the sight of Sh’Tar’va. He wanted to run, to escape this part of the Outer Rim but he could not. He would not abandon Virmu and his determination to find her outweighed his shame over the dark emotions he was experiencing. Qui-Gon reached out, resting a warm palm against Obi-Wan’s back as they slowly approached the planet.

“I will keep the bond open,” he said quietly.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, glancing down at the seated man.

“I may not be able to,” he murmured.

He wanted Qui-Gon’s mind to stay with his, to have the connection of the bond to sustain him, but he did not know if he could remain open to it, not if he was in danger. He wouldn’t be able to protect Qui-Gon’s mind if he was lost to darkness. Qui-Gon met his eyes before nodding reluctantly. Sh’Tar’va grew closer and Obi-Wan tensed, trembling without knowing it, Qui-Gon reaching to him through the Force, offering endless support.

As they neared the planet, Sh’Tar’va’s surface showed patches of black where ancient rock was exposed. The planet had once been volcanic, but now most of its landscape was under ice sheets. The only body of water remained in the Southern Hemisphere, the bottom of the planet a pale blue where the Lower Ocean covered. Faint circles appeared all over Sh’Tar’va and Qui-Gon leaned forward, the lights from the console glinting against his skin,

“Harvest-gears?” Qui-Gon guessed and Obi-Wan nodded.

The circular lines visible from space were massive rings that floated in Sh’Tar’va’s atmosphere, grounded by powerful cables. The rings were extensive greenhouses that helped feed the Sh’Tar’va population. Though expensive to create, harvest-gears were not uncommon on planets where the environment wasn’t stable enough to grow crops. Usually, building harvest-gears required permission from the Senate, and Jedi were often assigned to help install the rings.

“Do they need that many?” Qui-Gon murmured, and Obi-Wan looked away.

“There is one for each camp, but the food rarely goes to the slaves. Most likely it is traded to planets that can’t afford harvest-gears or don’t want investigation by the Senate.”

Obi-Wan felt the man’s thoughts tighten with horror as he calculated the amount of slave camps on Sh’Tar’va. They said nothing for a long while. Qui-Gon reached over, tapping into the console and beginning to scan for the ship the Trevsins had stolen from the Duros. The bond was thick with the weight of their emotions, the struggle to maintain normalcy as minutes fled by.

“Are the gears equipped with shockwaves?” Qui-Gon asked quietly and Obi-Wan tilted his head, his stomach tensing with dread, forcing his voice to remain calm.

“Probably. The Sh’kil don’t want unwelcome visitors. Even without dealing with shockwaves, it would be easy for a large ship to become tangled in the gear cables.”

He frowned, “The Sh’kil aren’t technologically advanced in the same way other planets are, but they are adamant about not being bothered. There are most likely sensors on the harvest-gears that detect vessels entering the atmosphere.”

Qui-Gon looked up at him sharply.

“What about an escape pod?”

Obi-Wan sat down in the copilot’s chair, fingers gripping the edge of the seat. He could not take his eyes away from the planet rapidly filling their viewscreen.

“It’s small and not piloted by a sentient being; it should avoid detection.”

The console beeped and Obi-Wan leaned forward, watching as the computer linked the Trevsins stolen ship to theirs. He input the planet’s information and waited as the computer scrolled through results before zooming in on a particular location.

“Southern Hemisphere, almost in the Lower Ocean,” he said softly.

Qui-Gon looked at him and Obi-Wan looked back, the bond rose between them, filled with emotion and Obi-Wan took a deep breath.

“I have to leave.”

Qui-Gon blinked, swallowing and glancing towards Sh’Tar’va.

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word.

* * *

Because of the small size of the _Zar Ka_ , the ship was only equipped with one escape pod. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon walked side by side to the back of the ship, where the hatch was. Obi-Wan did not know what to do or say, only knew that Qui-Gon’s presence helped keep the fear at bay.

The pod was very small, and perfectly round. Qui-Gon input the release sequence of the pressurized doors. They slid back, revealing a curved interior empty of anything but a miniature console. The walls shone silver-white as inset lights snapped on inside the pod.

Obi-Wan paused in front of the pod, everything in him resisting climbing into the tiny space and leaving Qui-Gon who stood near him, his eyes dark. Obi-Wan looked into the pod, finding it impossible to let go of the man at his side. I don’t want to lose you. The thought echoed through their bond, issuing from both of them and he could not fight it, he turned back, searching Qui-Gon’s face.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, and did not recognize his voice, or the startled look Qui-Gon gave him.

All he knew was Qui-Gon, the older man reaching out, touching Obi-Wan’s cheek as if memorizing the younger man’s features. Qui-Gon’s fingers trembled, his thumb brushing against Obi-Wan’s bottom lip. Obi-Wan touched the back of the man’s wrist. A stinging began at the corners of Obi-Wan’s eyes and he blinked, confused at the unfamiliar sensation. He looked up at Qui-Gon, searching the man’s face, his chest tight against the intensity of all that he was feeling. Qui-Gon looked as if he was going to speak, but could not get the words out and the almost lost look the man gave him was more than Obi-Wan could bear. He blindly gripped Qui-Gon’s tunic, fingers clenching the fabric as he fought against the pull of the bond, the need to just stay.

He turned his face away, the burning sensation increasing, Qui-Gon gently turned Obi-Wan’s jaw back towards him, studying the younger man and it was only when Qui-Gon bent his head and kissed Obi-Wan’s cheekbone tenderly that Obi-Wan realized that the wet sting was tears. He inhaled raggedly and shook his head wordlessly, ashamed at such emotionalism, he had not cried since he was a child, and even then it had been only in response to severe pain. But Qui-Gon kissed his mouth and Obi-Wan tasted the salt of his tears on the man’s lips and knew that Qui-Gon was crying as well and there was nothing now between them.

A hand found his, fingers entangling as they kissed and Obi-Wan recalled the sweetness of that moment earlier, when Qui-Gon had been inside of him, their hands tightly clasped and remembering it now brought a silent pain that reverberated in the bond. He could not imagine having to leave, to return to Sh’Tar’va. But he had no other choice. He had to do this. He pulled back slightly, Qui-Gon running fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair.

“I will see you soon,” Qui-Gon whispered so quietly that Obi-Wan barely heard him, and in the man’s words there was a desperate sort of hope, their bond rising between their minds and souls.

They both knew of the risks that Obi-Wan was taking, the chance that he would not return, or if he did that he would not be the same. Yet there was still hope that they could find Virmu, that the hold Obi-Wan’s past had on him would be lifted. Obi-Wan rested his head briefly on the man’s shoulder, before nodding. He stepped back, taking with him a calmness he did not know. Qui-Gon inclined his head, their hands were still clasped until Obi-Wan entered the pod, fingers brushing and parting and then Obi-Wan was alone in the small round space, Qui-Gon stepped forward, gazing at him. Obi-Wan reached for the lock-down button on the side of the pod, he pressed it, watching Qui-Gon disappear as the curved pieces of the door slowly moved to seal in place, his eyes on the other man’s until they could no longer see one another.

The bond surged with repressed emotion and Obi-Wan closed his eyes, aware that Qui-Gon was still there, just on the other side of the door. He paused, then pressed the eject sequence. Inset lights lit up the pod and a recorded voice began to count down. He felt the familiar stirrings of unease at being in such a small area. He knelt, hands clenched against the overwhelming fear of going back to Sh’Tar’va, of leaving Qui-Gon alone, of once again being helpless to do anything but survive. He bent his head, hearing the escape pod engines start, the metal slide of the _Zar Ka’s_ hatch open. He reached suddenly for Qui-Gon’s Force presence, beyond the point of tears, of anything but the desperate reach for the other part of his soul.

“Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan whispered out loud and through the bond Qui-Gon responded.

_Beloved._

Obi-Wan’s eyes opened, their blue-green color vivid in the white lights of the pod. The curved floor shuddered beneath him, engines vibrating the small white room as the pod blasted loose from the _Zar Ka_. Obi-Wan felt the pod shudder again, gravitational adjustments kicking in. He sat still, deliberately slowing and calming his breathing. He could feel Qui-Gon surrounding his mind, growing fainter but still there as he fell towards Sh’Tar’Va’s surface. He was leaving behind the one thing he loved, beyond all else to go back to a place he thought he would only visit in his nightmares.

Obi-Wan looked up, the rotating pod viewscreen showing glimpses of space and the approaching planet. He reached out, touching the glass viewscreen as the pod rotated again and he caught a glimpse of the now distant sleek shape of the _Zar Ka_ , before it vanished under its cloaking device. Strangely, he almost smiled.

Then he hit Sh’Tar’va’s atmosphere, alarms ringing through the tiny pod as it recalibrated shields to adjust to the heat of entrance and the increase in gravity. Obi-Wan turned, ducking his head to avoid bumping the low domed ceiling, he moved over to the miniature console, checking the pod’s settings. The enclosed area made him feel trapped but he pushed past the claustrophobia, examining the controls, before manually adjusting shields as the heat of the atmosphere slammed against the pod’s hull. He could not direct the pod’s trajectory, he could do nothing but watch as he tumbled through the thin vapor of clouds.

In seconds, the white haze cleared and Obi-Wan saw his first up-close glimpse of Sh’Tar’va’s surface. Huge expanses of the planet were covered in white patches of snow and ice. Black rock showed sharply in areas where the ice sheets had melted, the massive curve of a harvest gear hung in the distance. The pod rotated again and Obi-Wan glimpsed a pale sky before he fell closer, the pod spinning, the planet’s surface now obscured by the jagged black shoreline and the crashing waves of Sh’Tar’va’s Lower Ocean. Obi-Wan took a deep breath, but he hadn’t really expected any other outcome. He had a better chance of avoiding detection if he crashed in the ocean, anyway. The pod’s safety features would keep the pod afloat and allow him to use it as a raft.

He reached for Qui-Gon automatically and felt the man’s mind tighten on his own, but the bond was less substantial now, the distance increasing with each second and Obi-Wan was unprepared as warning lights snapped on a second before the entire pod shook as something impacted against it, striking it off course. Obi-Wan staggered, banging his shoulder against a wall before he grabbed the ship’s console, typing into the pod’s computer and frantically searching for what had hit him. He was not close enough to a harvest-gear to be caught in their shockwaves. He saw it a second later on the pod’s small viewscreen, the computer’s holo readout confirming it. A laser cannon was mounted into the cliffs along the water. His eyes narrowed, but he had no time to consider the Sh’kil’s increase in defense, a whine came from the console and another impact hit the pod, throwing Obi-Wan against the side of a curved wall. He grabbed the support straps inset in the ceiling, kicking off the side of the wall to keep his equilibrium as the pod lurched again.

“Hull has been breached.” A mechanical voice issued from the console.

Obi-Wan couldn’t do anything else but tighten his grip on the support straps as a hissing filled the pod, air leaking in from a damaged seal along the left wall. Sh’Tar’va’s atmosphere was fully breathable, but the breach ruptured the enforced gravity of the pod and Obi-Wan held on tightly as the pod went into freefall, gritting his teeth. A warning light lit near the shield sensors and Obi-Wan swung himself forward, crashing into part of the console and clinging to the rounded edge of it as the speed of the falling pod increased.

Qui-Gon’s mind, distant but there, caught against his own, sharp with distress. Obi-Wan could not reply, he typed in shield modifiers rapidly, even as the icy waves of the Lower Ocean spanned the viewscreen now. He pushed back, bare feet stinging as cold air seeped through the damaged hull, there was no time to strap down, he was falling too fast. Obi-Wan tried to grab on to the smooth wall, watching ocean spray spatter the viewscreen a broken half-second before the robotic voice informed him,

“Pod safety features unavailable, adjusting for repair-—”

There was no time afterwards, only the sickening rush of panic before the pod hit the water. Without safety features it slammed into the waves with incredible speed, sinking hard. Obi-Wan was thrown backward, hitting a curved wall hard before being slammed against what was the ceiling. His hands scrambled to find something to hold on to, his fingers hooking briefly around the edge of an inset light before the pod spun and he was thrown aside again. The damaged hull of the pod shrieked at the added outside pressure of water and gave way, metal smashing inwards.

It was separate in his mind only by senses. The force of the icy water slamming into him, swallowing him. The roar as the pod broke apart and he was caught in its violent descent to the ocean floor, the absence of all light, the unbearable cold. Obi-Wan felt incredible pressure batter his body, crushing him against the inside of the pod, dragging him down, his lungs filling with water. Instinct saved him as he propelled himself into the current, pushing into the rushing flood and somehow kicking free through the crumbled wall of the pod. Something scraped against his arm, cutting deep, but he gave no thought to it, forcing the injured limb to move, to pull towards a surface far above him.

Jedi could hold their breath underwater for long periods of time but he had no knowledge of where to go, the cold pounded against him and for a moment it became too much. A sudden burst of energy propelled through the bond and Obi-Wan tapped into the raw strength, launching away from the damaged pod, hands knifing the water. There was no light, only the dark frigid ocean pulling at him, draining him. He kept moving, drawing on the Force, opening the bond fully and feeling Qui-Gon respond frantically, energy pushing through his veins, his body driven onwards, Qui-Gon’s voice in his mind, almost-words echoing through the bond in a whirring rush of noise and motion.

Disoriented, Obi-Wan forced his burning muscles to cooperate, his limbs to move faster, determined to make it. His lungs stung, his chest hurting at the pressure of not breathing, he forced his eyelids open but there was only darkness. Finally the water surface became choppy, somewhat lighter and he broke through the waves with a ragged gasp, icy air slamming into him at all sides.

Obi-Wan turned as best he could, his body numb. He glimpsed the distant shoreline of black rock. He pushed towards it. Salt and wind stung against the cut along his left forearm, his body weakened by the unending cold. Qui-Gon was still there, but the bond was overwhelmed with the backlash of expending too much Force energy and Obi-Wan pushed shields up weakly, unable to keep his own mind quiet. Qui-Gon retreated, but remained a warm presence that kept Obi-Wan moving, his gaze never lifting from the shore.

He was not sure how long it took, just felt the rough edges of rock beneath his struggling feet. Gasping, Obi-Wan pulled himself forward through the icy water. He staggered upright, sharp edges scraping his numb feet as he found his footing. Obi-Wan shuddered, cold cutting into his bones. He scanned the horizon, hoping he hadn’t been knocked too far off course. In the distance he could see the mine, built into the wall of a giant cliff, somewhere behind it were Sh’Kil headquarters, and the Trevsin ship. He had no idea if Virmu was with the Trevsins or not, or if she had been moved to a different camp.

Automatically, Obi-Wan calculated the kilometers, wincing as the icy air beat at his skin. He was numb even to fear and felt only the instinct to survive and find shelter somewhere. He lurched forward, forcing stiff limbs to move over ice and snow. His breath froze in the air before him and Obi-Wan pushed onward, aware of how visible his dark wet clothes were in the surrounding whiteness. If he was seen, he would be captured and brought straight to the Sh’kil, but there was nothing he could do. He lowered his head, struggling through the deep snow, his body burning from the cold. Obi-Wan estimated that he had less than two hours to survive if he stayed exposed to the elements. He needed to reach the mine first. He reached for the Force, opening a direct channel to it and blocking everything out, as he had done in the water. He felt the light weight of his lightsaber against his outer thigh, he could burn a path through the snow with it, but he dared not use it. he kept going, feeling Qui-Gon both near and far away. Obi-Wan gritted chattering teeth, wishing he wasn’t using so much Force energy so soon, he was draining the bond dangerously, and Qui-Gon was giving him everything. There was nothing he could do but try to increase his pace.

The mine became clearer and Obi-Wan moved to the side, angling his path along the cliff edge to lower his chances of being seen. He doubted the mine entrance was heavily guarded. There would be levels down to the underground mine that were more patrolled. No slave could get out, once they were inside. His ribs ached with each inhale, chunks of ice freezing in his hair, clothing becoming stiff as cold wind blew against him. Obi-Wan pushed onward, stopping only when he was near enough to the mine that he could see the individual paneling of its outer wall, bolted together to strengthen the large structure. It was huge, made of rough durasteel. Parts of the dented metal had weakened, but regular ice storms had scoured away most of the rust.

The front entrance was still too dangerous to approach, Obi-Wan searched the structure before seeing a small opening a few floors above the main door. It was some sort of window, or ventilation screen. He backed up against the cliffside, grimacing as his muscles protested when he reached upwards. Ice and sharp rock bit into his numb fingers as he scaled the cliff wall slowly, his body made clumsy from the cold. As he climbed closer to the mine window a mix of smells rose towards him. Some he recognized from his nightmares, others he did not. A strange pungent scent scraped against his lungs as he neared, it was oddly salty and burned his nostrils. He ignored it.

The mine window was nothing more than an opening for an old ventilation unit. Obi-Wan removed the metal wiring with shaking hands. It was narrow enough of an area that he was grateful that he was thin and small shouldered. He pulled himself through the window carefully, gripping the ledge as he realized that he was meters above ground. A quick search with the Force assured him that the area was deserted and he dropped down, hissing as his cold legs gave out, too numb to break his fall. Obi-Wan rolled to his feet, looking around furtively, flexing stiff fingers.

He was in a deserted corridor, the area only marginally warmer than outside. The walls were the same dark steel, more rusted here. The hallway was narrow, light slotting through the narrow ventilation window he had crawled through. Otherwise it was dark. The smell was much worse and Obi-Wan bit back a cough, moving forwards as he sensed heat. Already he moved with stealth, his aching limbs cooperating with the need to remain invisible to guards. He did not know how the Sh’kil fortified their mines in the southern territory. This was different than the Trilightium mine he had worked at as a child.

He paused, brushing aside the melting ice that trickled down his face from his hair. He needed to get underground, but could not find another level. He stood uncertainly in the shadows until he heard footsteps. He pulled back, quieting his breathing, remaining motionless in the cold corridor as a human rounded the corner. He was tall and bald and moved with an odd pace, his face blank. He was dressed with more layers than Obi-Wan expected to see on a slave and he carried a short stun baton. An enlightened guard, Obi-Wan silently confirmed.

Obi-Wan followed the man quietly, pausing when the guard did. As he expected they were approaching a long narrow set of stairs. The smell that came up towards him was so terrible that Obi-Wan had to fight to control the urge to not become ill. He felt a slight increase in warmth as he followed the guard down the steps, staying in the shadows. After long minutes of walking the stairs opened up suddenly, the guard moving down a different walkway and Obi-Wan stopped, rooted to the spot for one terrible moment as he saw his first glimpse of the underground mine exposed a few levels below. Without thinking, he slammed shields up over the bond, blocking Qui-Gon from feeling the horror of it all.

He realized instantly that the saltiness was separate from the stench he could not escape. The mine was a salt mine, the air dry with halite dust. Of course, they were so near the ocean… his arm stung with sudden pain, the sodium in the air causing his open wound there to burn. Obi-Wan pulled back in the shadows, eyes sweeping over the area. The mining took place in an enormous space, the high ceilings only emphasizing the size of the mine. He was no longer in the steel structure but had entered into a carved out part of the cliff. Hundreds of slaves moved beneath the stair platform. Some scraped salt from the grayish white walls, others hauled heavy blocks of the mineral. Many of the slaves had swollen limbs from fluid retention, most wore little, their skin a grimy cracked mess of crusted on salt and open sores.

The terrible stench came from massive boilers in the room that provided scant heat but seemed to fuel the archaic machinery that moved along the ceiling, hauling loads of rock salt up. The boilers emitted dark clouds of smoke that drifted upwards, scattering ash. Obi-Wan swallowed back the nausea that cramped in his gut. Everything in him rebelled approaching the mining floor and becoming one of the slaves. He had no choice. He forced himself to slip down the stairs, moving along a balcony until he was able to drop down to the mining floor, unseen. He landed in a dark corner, straightening from his crouch and looking around.

His mouth was dry from breathing the salt, the pain in his cut arm a welcome distraction. The smell was almost unbearable now, the scent hot, inhuman. Even the cold air seeping in from outside could not destroy it. He glanced to his right, pausing as he met the open stare of a corpse collapsed in the shadows. It was a Bith, one who had apparently died recently, his large skull was cracked, his neck at an odd angle, what was left of his head lay in a pool of blood and brain matter. The enormous dark eyes were glazed, staring at him unseeing. Obi-Wan stood still, his breath tightening. This, above all else, cemented the overwhelming awareness that he had returned to Sh’Tar’va.

A noise came to his left and he stepped to the side, aware that his wet clothes and clean skin signaled him out. A human slave brushed past him, at first he was unsure their gender, the human’s frame thin, with wider shoulders and prominent cheekbones, but guessed she was female. She bent over the Bith, stripping the dead being’s only clothing from him, a long sleeved shirt. She looked up, caught his eye and Obi-Wan glanced at the ground, his feet burning from the frozen dirt beneath him. He moved without thinking into a line of slaves, salt dust settling over him as they shuffled past an excavating pit in the ground. More corpses were in their path and Obi-Wan felt sick as he had to step on them, his bare feet slipping and sinking into ruined flesh.

The area was large, but dimly lit, and he could not get a proper estimate of the amount of slaves, or machines, or even guards that milled near them. He found himself unsure, teetering between horror and numbness. He glanced behind him, wary of having his back exposed to anyone. He glimpsed the female slave in the line behind him, the Bith’s shirt tied around her waist. She was dressed similar to him, and was slightly taller. Beneath the thick crust of salt, her skin was a creamy brown and so freckled that it looked as if she had been dipped in a galaxy of dark stars.

They passed by one of the boilers and the stench came, more powerfully than before and Obi-Wan’s Force sense resisted going near it and it was all he could do to keep moving. The freckled woman was watching him closely now and Obi-Wan knew she was trying to place him. He ducked his head, tonguing the inside of his mouth, his gums feeling thick with salty dryness, his lips burning. They edged around the boiler, Some of the slaves shifting to be nearer to the machine’s heat while they walked by. They seemed immune to the scent now, though Obi-Wan did not know how they could be, even the corpses he could not smell over the awful stench. The line halted and waited for another line of slaves to pass, loaded down with crates of rock salt. Obi-Wan kept his head down, fighting the urge not to flinch as hot ash from the boiler settled against his cold skin and hair.

The bond pulled and he knew Qui-Gon was trying to reach him, upset that Obi-Wan was blocking but there was nothing Obi-Wan could do, he would not let Qui-Gon see this. If he felt the man’s own response to it, he would be crippled. He had to remain focused, he had to find Virmu. They stood, shivering in the cold and Obi-Wan glanced marginally to the right, where the woman had shifted into his sight. She looked at him, meeting his gaze bluntly with dark brown eyes. Obi-Wan looked away, ignoring her shrewd watchfulness of him.

He tried not to inhale the air, the salt and smoke choking him. He wondered what the boilers could possible run on but even as he stood there in the wavering line of slaves, he saw the automatic movements of a guard near him, the blank face of enlightenment as the male slave bent, pulling a corpse up from where it lay sprawled on the floor. The enlightened slave moved towards the boiler, the other slaves scattering out of the way from where they were standing near the machine’s warmth. Mechanically, the enlightened slave pulled open a panel on the boiler’s side, heat and foul black smoke pouring out and Obi-Wan looked away, biting his lip hard, suddenly terribly aware of what heated the camps, of what could smell so horrible.

The line moved, inching forwards and Obi-Wan looked up to see the woman watching him, lanky arms crossed, exposing a tattoo identical to his own, her gaze almost scornful, as if she had guessed his thoughts and found him impossibly naïve. Obi-Wan met her gaze this time with calculating sharpness and the woman pushed ahead of him, taking a place in the line in front of him. Obi-Wan let her, moving forward, turning his face away to muffle his cough as smoke wafted over them from the boiler, ash drifting down.

Now that the enlightened slave had moved on to collect other corpses, Obi-Wan saw more slaves approach, huddling near the heat of the boiler for a few moments. He turned away, but felt how quickly this could become normal, though he did not think he could speak without getting ill, he concentrated instead on keeping the bond blocked. If Qui-Gon knew it was like this…the man would come find him, regardless of their plan. They had to stick to the plan. Obi-Wan had to find Virmu. He clenched cold shaking fingers into fists, determined not to falter again. He would survive, and this would become just another memory.

They were entering lanes now and Obi-Wan moved into one without thinking about it, noticing that the slaves were heading towards the walls, scraping salt from the cliff rock with their bare hands. The woman followed him, her short wiry hair was dark brown and cropped close to the head. She assessed him sharply, pressing close when Obi-Wan moved to walk past her.

“You’re no slave,” she hissed.

Obi-Wan knew to show a reaction would only confirm her accusation. He watched her coldly until she glanced away, and he slid past her, moving further through the line, towards the high wall of rock. There were no tools given to dig the rock salt out. He glanced at a Zabrakian slave near him who was exerting pressure with his palm and thumb on different outcrops, breaking off the salt. The Zabrakian’s hands were swollen, fingers stiff, nails missing. Obi-Wan looked away. He matched the pace of the other slaves, not pausing, just digging into the cliff-rock, his fingers aching, muscles burning. Each inhale seared him and he felt unbearable thirst. It seemed impossible that he had only been in the mine for a little while, that he had ever been surrounded by water and snow, that he had been somewhere else, in Qui-Gon’s arms, the man above him and inside him, his gaze unwavering from Obi-Wan’s. Only the press of his lightsaber against his leg reassured him that his life before was real.

That, and the bond. He could feel Qui-Gon pressing against the edges of his mind, but Obi-Wan kept his shields up, Qui-Gon needed rest, Obi-Wan had drained the man of energy in order to avoid drowning. He would not expose Qui-Gon to the mine, not until he had adjusted enough that he could block his internal responses to it. He felt on the edge of panic, maintaining numb calmness because it was the only way he could survive. He needed Qui-Gon in his mind but he could not risk letting the man in, not now.

He did not know how long they dug before the other slaves moved aside, pilling the loose chunks of salt in crates. Obi-Wan carried his load of rock salt to an empty crate, dumping it and moving to return to the wall. A large male Trandoshan blocked his path suddenly and Obi-Wan stepped aside. The Trandoshan followed, snarling something in Dosh. Obi-Wan felt that familiar clutch of being cornered and wanting to lash out.

He kept his gaze averted. He did not know if the Trandoshan was a guard or a slave. The Trandoshan was not enlightened, that was clear by his expressive face, his pointed teeth barred. Obi-Wan studied the Trandoshan out of the corner of his eye quickly. The brownish scales of the male’s hide were caked with salt, and one limb was smaller than the others, most likely having regrown after a fight. Even when not worked into a berserk rage, Trandoshans were violent and had the strength of wookies, their sworn enemies. The Trandoshan grabbed his arm suddenly, twisting it to look at Obi-Wan’s tattoo and Obi-Wan dug his heels in the frozen dirt, pivoting with the movement of his arm and using his other hand to free himself form the Trandoshan’s grip. The Trandoshan hissed, shaking his head, revealing sharp fangs. Obi-Wan watched him coldly, knowing that the neck and torso were the most vulnerable, that if he could get the Trandoshan near one of the boilers…

His stomach twisted at his own cold brutality and he inhaled shakily, fumbling for control in the Force. A small scattered assortment of slaves were watching the scene, a few had paused in their digging, unsure as Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered from the Trandoshan’s clawed hands to powerful arms. If the male chose to attack, Obi-Wan had only seconds to decide what to do. If the Trandoshan was a guard, Obi-Wan faced severe punishment, as well as being discovered for defending himself.

“He’s not worth anything,” a voice suddenly snapped, and Obi-Wan recognized the emphasis on certain syllables, the unfamiliar accent.

The freckled woman had stopped digging. She stood in a nearby lane, watching them with feigned disinterest. The Trandoshan spat something out and the woman shrugged boldly.

“He’s from a different camp.”

The large Trandoshan grunted, eyeing the woman beadily who continued speaking indifferently.

“He’s a bit of a favorite of Skausk’s, wouldn’t want you to get caught up in that.”

The Trandoshan stepped back, glaring. Obi-Wan remained still, watching him from the corner of his eye, the cold certainty of battle tight inside his lungs, his fists clenched. The large creature grumbled something in Dosh before walking away. Obi-Wan turned his head and the woman stared impassively at him.

“You owe me,” she said and Obi-Wan shook his head.

“I don’t remember asking for your help,” he replied shortly, moving back to his work, trying not to choke on the terrible smell of the boilers nearby, his bare feet stinging against the salty ground.

She snorted.

“You’re not from here, you need all the help you can get.”

Obi-Wan lifted his head, watching her warily and she stepped forward, strong lean arms crossed.

“I wasn’t lying. Skausk will take a liking to you, if he sees you.”

Obi-Wan kept his face expressionless. He did not know who Skausk was, but the name sounded Sh’kilian. He gathered the rest of his rock salt up, moving back to the crate, waiting until she was closer before speaking.

“That’s my business.”

She shrugged, she had pulled on the dead Bith’s bloody shirt, the ragged fabric stirring in the cold air that pushed into the mine from somewhere outside.

“Suit yourself, I couldn’t help you there anyway. If you are from another camp, you won’t have long before someone picks you off, these are salt mines, not Trilightium mines. We don’t have the luxury you’re used to.”

Obi-Wan turned away, fingers stinging as he dug another block of salt from the icy dirt wall.

* * *

He didn’t know when it ended, just followed a line of slaves to somewhere deeper in the mines. They entered another room, divided into low cots, some of the slaves collapsed on them while others moved towards a large barrel in the room, crowding around it, drinking the water from the barrel with cupped hands and open mouths. Obi-Wan’s stomach cramped with thirst but he was unwilling to go near the other slaves. He found a cot instead. It was against one wall and he sat down, his numb hands resting in his lap, his breaths coming tight from him. The bond tugged again at him and Obi-Wan was so close to giving in, to reaching back for Qui-Gon’s mind, desperately needing the other man. He sensed someone approach him and he jerked his head up, watching as a small slender Twi’lek moved through the crowd, coming nearer to his cot. Her skin was a brilliant blue beneath the layers of grime, her lekku twitching slightly as she stopped in front of him.

“Cage told me you are injured,” she remarked with a slight Ryl accent.

Obi-Wan watched her cautiously as she crouched to inspect his cut forearm. She appeared in better health than many of the slaves and wore a full set of clothes, as well as a faded black headdress in the customary way that most Twi’lek females wore. She examined where the blood had dried, careful not to touch his skin.

“The salt must bother it,” she remarked with a small frown.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He was still stunned from the conditions of the mine. He had forgotten how bad it was, or had never really known. The Twi’lek regarded him quietly, her dark brown eyes intent.

“Cage says you are not from here.”

Obi-Wan blinked, but he assumed that ‘Cage’ was the name of the freckled woman in the mine.

“I am from a northern camp,” he said quietly, his throat raw with thirst.

Salt lingered on his still damp clothes, as well as the smell of the boilers. His stomach clenched, but already he was adjusting, finding he was able to speak without feeling the overwhelming urge to strike something.

“Why are you here?” the Twi’lek asked.

Obi-Wan looked at her. She was quite young, perhaps still in her teens and beautiful. Too beautiful to still be on Sh’Tar’va and not sold to other slavers. He looked away. He could not trust the other slaves. He would not confide his need to find Virmu, not unless he had no other option. Footsteps approached and Obi-Wan automatically tensed, old fearful responses returning as if they had never left. The freckled woman, Cage, met his watchful gaze with her own sharp intensity. She glanced at the Twi’lek woman, murmuring something in Ryl, her voice softened.

The Twi’lek nodded, straightening up, touching Cage lightly on the arm before walking away. Obi-Wan could not fathom the exchange, he did not care. He ached all over and he felt physically ill, feverish from what he had seen in the mines. He kept his gaze on Cage who sat down on the edge of his cot, her expression shrewd. She pulled her knees up, crossing arms over them and inspected him bluntly.

“Stay away from Mem’vokla,” she said suddenly.

Obi-Wan matched her critical expression, glancing towards the Twi’lek woman who had wandered to a cot in the corner of the room that surprisingly was supplied with a few sturdy blankets.

“Is that her name?” he asked.

He was wary of conversation with another slave, but he knew that the lanky woman sitting across from him had some level of influence in the mine. He could find Virmu easier if he didn’t get drawn into a conflict with Cage.

“Yes,” she responded sharply.

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“I’m not interested in her.”

“You better not be,” Cage warned, her dark brown eyes narrowing.

Obi-Wan tilted his head, watching the woman closely. She may have been younger or older than him, it was difficult to tell. Her hands were callused and burned looking in many areas, but she did not have the swelling of edima that he had seen on some of the other slaves. Her fierce expression was tempered by something as she glanced back towards Mem’vokla.

“You protect her,” Obi-Wan said, his voice hoarse from dehydration.

Cage shrugged, brushing white salt dust from her light brown skin.

“If it were not for me Ol/korvin would have bought Memv years ago. I keep her safe from harm. No one messes with me here, not if they wish to live.”

It was a matter-of-fact statement and Obi-Wan recognized himself in those words, even at fourteen he had proven his ability to survive, as she had apparently proven hers.

“I understand.”

She looked hard at him, before nodding than surprisingly giving him a small crooked smile.

“That is good. Especially as you owe me.”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms, salt rubbing against his open wound, the burning pain a distraction from the terrible images echoing through his mind. He could not get away from that awful smell, the cold and unbearable misery.

“I don’t have anything you want.”

She snorted as if he had said something amusing and leaned back against the rock wall behind his cot, seeming oblivious to the cold.

“We’ll work something out.”

Obi-Wan felt a burst of anger at the pointlessness of the conversation. He wanted to get up, to leave, to go back to Qui-Gon. The thought of the older man both grounded and wounded him. he was unable to hold on to the bond, not without concentrating and he did not have the energy right now. He regarded Cage closely, wondering what she was referring to about working something out. His stomach tightened, as he considered the possible implications.

“I’m not interested in women.”

She gave him a dismissive stare that bordered on accusatory.

“I am. So you can forget about me satisfying you.” Her clear accent rounded out certain letters, her gaze challenging.

Obi-Wan looked away, shrugging, his muscles relaxing slightly at the knowledge that she would not bother him for that.

“I said I wasn’t interested.”

She pushed off his cot, standing and looking down at him,

“You better find a man to look after you then, it will keep the others away, unless you liked the look of that Trandoshan.”

Obi-Wan quelled the urge to flinch, thoughts of Qui-Gon rising again, the man seeming universes away from him now.

“I have someone,” he whispered, the words rasping from his dry throat.

Cage turned, glancing towards Mem’vokla who had lain down on the cot, only her headtails visible above the worn blanket.

“He protects you?”

Obi-Wan looked up.

“We protect each other.”

Cage studied him.

“So where is he?” she demanded.

When Obi-Wan didn’t answer she shook her head, stepping away from his cot in dismissal, wiping battered hands on the Bith’s shirt that she had retied around her waist.

“It doesn’t matter, you won’t last here anyway, this place is death.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok…so I know it’s cruel to separate Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan right after they got together, but again, it is necessary for the plot. Sorry. 
> 
> I did research salt mines, and though I wrote things a bit differently, the feel of the mines are similar to how salt mines once were, and sadly still are in some parts of the world. The health conditions from breathing in and working with such a high concentration of salt are terrible and realistic in this chapter. 
> 
> Also, what does everyone think of the two new characters? Both Mem’vokla and Cage were in my outline since the beginning, as I really wanted to include more people of color, more women, just basically more people that identify as something other than white straight men in this fic. (though Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon are gay in my mind, so there is that) :).
> 
> Mem’vokla is the twi’lek version of her name, in basic, she would be called Memv Okla, which is why Cage calls her Memv. Cage is just Cage, she has no other name and I don’t feel she needs one. Cage’s accent was based off Swedish accents, because I love the sound of Swedish accents. Ryl, is the twi’lek language and of course, both Cage and Mem’vokla are fluent in it. 
> 
> As always, most stuff that is ships, computers, escape pods, harvest gears, I make up with some sci fi inspiration. :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry again about this being later…as I’ve said on tumblr, the next two chapters (19 and 20) will also be three weeks instead of two week updates, because I’m in the middle of school semester. After 20, I’ll be done though and should be able to get back to two week updates. :) So, this chapter is Qui-Gon’s pov, I hope you like it. Also, just to let you know, I did post two new things on this A03 account, one is little obi/qui ficlets that I’ve written, another is a short merman obi/qui story, just in case you’ve been dying to read more obi/qui ;) so…I am sorry again about the longer time between updates, however, if I stay on track with updating, I should be finishing this fic around the time I posted it last year, which is in July. Wow! Enjoy the chapter! please let me know what you think!

The _Zar Ka_ hung stationary in Sh’Tar’va’s orbit, concealed beneath its cloaking device. Qui-Gon leaned over the console in the ship’s dark cockpit, broad shoulders hunched, his head swimming with exhaustion. He felt unsteady and drained of the Force, the blocked bond muffling his senses so that he was torn between fear, frustration, and the overwhelming urge to sleep.

He bit the inside of his cheek, struggling to calm the distress that leaked through the bond and ignited his own. Obi-Wan was trying to block him but was unable to shield the intensity of his emotions. There was so much that Obi-Wan had already undergone in the few hours apart from him. Qui-Gon had been crippled with fear when he sensed that the escape pod had failed in some way and that Obi-Wan was in danger…

He had been helpless, unable to do anything but pour energy into the bond. It had hardly been enough and now Obi-Wan was shielding from him and Qui-Gon could not reach him. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, his loose hair falling into his face as he stood there, hands braced against the edge of the console, the computer’s lights washing over him. He wanted to be with Obi-Wan, needed to be there to support him through the terror and pain of returning to Sh’Tar’va. He could not lose his beloved to the darkness that pushed against their bond. A wild misery rose inside him, a mix of anger and despair at the Trevsins for capturing Virmu, for making it so Obi-Wan had to return to slavery, for being separated from the one he loved, unable to offer even comfort now.

Abruptly, Qui-Gon shifted, releasing what emotions he could into the Force. He would not allow his anger to cloud his focus or to seep into the shielded bond, not when so much was at stake. Later, they would speak of how to handle the bond in times like this, but he could not blame Obi-Wan for blocking him out. It was too new, too exhausting to have the bond open when they were so far apart. Obi-Wan needed to concentrate on surviving, though Qui-Gon suspected that Obi-Wan’s main incentive for blocking the bond was out of a need to protect Qui-Gon from witnessing what Sh’Tar’va was like. Qui-Gon breathed deeply, pushing aside the frustration and fear spiking through him, telling him that something was wrong, that Obi-Wan was shielding him because he was hurt. It was harder than Qui-Gon thought, to put aside his anger at feeling so helpless. Exhaustion returned, weighing on him but he ignored it, determined to remain focused on the mission.

He tapped large fingers against the computer holoscreen in front of him, monitoring the data streaking by. He had started scanning Sh’Tar’va extensively, though the _Zar Ka_ was ill-equipped to do so. The Duros had not designed the ship with survey technology in mind. It had taken nearly an hour of hacking to readjust the computer’s scanners and he was uncertain if it would be enough. So far the computer was registering only the basic information of whether or not the planet’s air was safe for breathing, general topography, and life-form readings. The last was the most useful, as Qui-Gon doubted that the Sh’kil could explain the massive amount of people they had clustered together in a multitude of places on such a remote inhospitable planet.

A beep came and Qui-Gon reached over, quickly studying the readout of repairs that he had the computer working through on a separate screen. The ship’s engines were stabilizing by auto-repair features, also by remaining immobile the _Zar Ka’s_ engines were able to recalculate the ship’s energy into restoring some firepower. Shields however, were still damaged beyond repair. If directly attacked there was little chance Qui-Gon would survive, even if firepower were at full strength.

Qui-Gon frowned slightly but there was nothing he could do about the ship except repair what he could. The discomfort of the bond bothered him more. It was terrifying to be blocked like this, to not know if Obi-Wan was alright. All he knew was that Obi-Wan was still alive. Distant emotions filtered through but he could not touch Obi-Wan’s mind and he was terribly afraid of what that meant.

Though his knowledge of bonds was limited, Qui-Gon knew that even the weakest training bond would react if a master or padawan died. It was why Jedi teams traveled together. To feel the death of another was painful, sometimes dangerously so, for those that were closely bonded. However, Qui-Gon did not know what would happen with the bond between him and Obi-Wan, were one of them to die. Their bond was nothing like a training bond. It was stronger, more encompassing. It seemed derived entirely from the Force and grew more powerful over time. When the bond had been open, he had felt Obi-Wan on the planet below, something he would never had been able to do with the weak training bond he had had with Dooku.

Qui-Gon inhaled sharply, wavering slightly as another wave of exhaustion washed over him. He was tired and cold. He felt lost without Obi-Wan in the bond but he could do nothing but wait for Obi-Wan to reopen it. He struggled to adjust to the necessary distance between them, the knowledge that Obi-Wan was in danger. He had known that Obi-Wan would not be able to keep the bond open at all times, it was not safe to do so. But he could not forget that sharp sense of horror and fear from Obi-Wan just before the bond was blocked.

Qui-Gon shook his head, pushing aside graying hair, grimly readjusting the computer’s scanners again. He was drained dangerously of the Force and needed to sleep or meditate. He was afraid though that if he were attacked or Obi-Wan was, he would not be able to assist through the bond fast enough. His hands clenched into fists, knowing he would have to sleep eventually. He was too exhausted to function without rest, if he tried to keep going his body would shut down into a healing trance. His lack of Force healing abilities would prevent him from having any control over the trance and he would be unable to respond to Obi-Wan’s distress at all.

He swallowed, shivering and reluctantly put the computer’s scanners on auto. Qui-Gon reprogrammed the console to send an alarm through the ship if anything drew near the _Zar Ka_ or threatened its cloaking feature in anyway. Ducking his head against the low ceiling, he exited the dark cockpit.

His feet led him back to the cabin that he had shared with Obi-Wan. He stood for a moment in the unlit room before approaching the bed. The sheets were still tangled and he ran a hand over them, remembering the soft coolness of Obi-Wan’s skin, the feel of bone and muscle beneath his palms, the way Obi-Wan shuddered under him with passion, and the man’s greenish eyes wide with pleasure when they had made love. He took a breath, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his head aching sharply, the empty stillness of the bond almost painful now. Each moment of happiness with Obi-Wan seemed juxtaposed with sadness, their time together always pulled apart by their lives as Jedi.

Qui-Gon bit his lip, unfastening his utility belt, and pulling off his boots. He crawled into bed fully dressed, pulling blankets over himself. He felt cold, as cold as he had when Obi-Wan had reached for him in the escape pod, minutes after leaving. The icy fear had exploded through the bond and Qui-Gon had known that Obi-Wan was in danger, that something had gone terribly wrong. He had given everything through the bond but had no certainty that Obi-Wan was better now. He could not manage to get warm, his ability to regulate his body temperature hindered by the blocked bond, by what Obi-Wan must be experiencing. Despair tightened through his lungs, his head spinning with exhaustion.

The pillows smelt of the soap Obi-Wan had used earlier, and Qui-Gon reached out, touching the place across from him in the bed, longing to have Obi-Wan next to him, to hold the other man and feel himself held as well. He closed his eyes against it all, his mind drifting back towards the blocked bond, looking for a way in. Somehow, he fell asleep.

_He smelled salt and ice and something else, a terrible scent that drifted at the edge of his senses. Qui-Gon swallowed, his mouth dry, unbearable thirst scraping his throat so that each inhale was painful. He could see nothing but the whiteness of snow, stretching endlessly from where he stood. The air was the same color and he did not know where the ground ended and the sky began. He was alone in the cold, his skin chafed by an icy wind._

_Qui-Gon looked down. He wore his Jedi tunics but was barefoot. The tunics were stained with ash as they had been at Shipyard 59 at the Duro Starshipwright Shipyard, frost stiffened the fabric, numbing his feet. The cold was as painful as his thirst and he knew he needed warmth and water soon to avoid drastic consequences from such exposure. He started walking instinctively, trying to get his blood flowing, to stay awake. There was nowhere to go. He was so thirsty and the taste of salt clung to the inside of his mouth and stung his skin worse than the icy climate. Something came then, a thought or touch upon his mind and Qui-Gon staggered to a stop, turning._

_“Obi-Wan.” He said, sensing the man’s presence faintly, the bond still buried but beginning to open._

_There was no response except for a powerful burst of wind, rising from one corner of the endless expanse. It tore at Qui-Gon and pulled at the ground, snow rising, tumbling toward him. He stood still, felt the coldness of it cut through him. The weak grasp of a mind against his own was overwhelming, even as the wind whirled through him, too powerful for him to remain standing. He looked down, his own body blurring in the snow and ice, fading…_

_“Obi-Wan!” he called, frantic suddenly that their time was up, that their minds were too far apart for the bond to protect them…_

_…He was somewhere else now, standing in a dark narrow corridor. He could not see around him but he could feel Obi-Wan faintly through the bond, could sense the man next to him. He turned, but no one was there. Qui-Gon reached out for the wall to feel his way down the corridor. It was cold metal, abrasive to the touch from years of wear, rust flaking against his fingertips._

_That indescribable smell was back, worse than before. He strode through the darkness, the Force oddly separated from him as he turned a corner. A narrow window high above let in light so that shadows moved around him. Qui-Gon looked up but could see nothing beyond the window. The cold air in the corridor burned his lungs but he stayed still, his eyes falling to the floor. Someone was sitting in the rectangular patch of light on the metal floor. Their head was down, rested on arms locked across knees. Qui-Gon was unsure if they wore clothes or not. He stepped forward and the figure jerked their head up, staring at him._

_It was a boy, his short hair messy, reddish in the light. He was terribly thin, he could not yet be fifteen. They watched one another, Qui-Gon looking into wary blue-green eyes that were too large, too wild with despair. Dirt and blood was smeared across the boy’s face and bare arms but not enough to cover the vivid tattoo on his upper arm. Qui-Gon swallowed, he could not move, nor could he look away from this boy that was once Obi-Wan. The walls around him shook, beginning to crumble and evaporate, the image in front of him falling away before he could speak. It was only the darkness now that pulled at him, destroying everything in its path..._

Qui-Gon woke, gasping, blue eyes snapping open. The room was empty. He was on the _Zar Ka_. His body hummed with tension as he stared blankly at the long narrow window that showed the endless expanse of stars outside. His lungs were tight, unable to breathe in air for a moment until he felt the weight of the bond still blocked, but there.

Qui-Gon sat up, pushing off blankets. He was shivering, unable to forget such vivid dreams, the cold emptiness of the first, and the boy in the last. He had known Obi-Wan had suffered as a child in the mines but he could not fathom how bad it was. How bad it still was. Obi-Wan must have reached for him in his sleep, that was the only reason that Qui-Gon would have dreamt of Sh’Tar’va.

He folded his legs, sitting cross-legged on the bed. he was still shaking, still off balance. Gently, he probed at the bond with the Force. It flexed but did not bend and Qui-Gon frowned. Obi-Wan was still shielding, though not as strong as before. Something was happening, even now and he had no way of helping. He closed his eyes, feeling the Force flow through him. Sleep, no matter how troubled it was, had helped restore his energy and attunement with the Force. But it had not reopened the bond, unless that had happened in the dream…but no. He had not been able to speak to Obi-Wan, only sense him. And the only person he had seen was Obi-Wan as a child.

Qui-Gon looked away, his jaw clenched. He had known that Obi-Wan would never reveal the full extent of what he had suffered, but if the dreams were reminders of it… He did not know if he could remain like this, in this state of waiting, knowing what Obi-Wan went through on Sh’Tar’va. Grimly, Qui-Gon took a deep breath, steeling himself. He had promised Obi-Wan he would wait in orbit and gather information on the Sh’kil, he would not break that promise.

Qui-Gon stood slowly, looking around the small cabin as if he had never been there before, it was designed with the smooth crisp lines of all Duromade things, the blue lights and dark walls reminding him of The Builder’s Hotel. He touched the metal bedframe absently, brow creased in thought. It seemed strange to think it had been only a matter of hours since he had last seen Obi-Wan, since they had lain together. He stepped back, recalling Obi-Wan’s intent look when he had undressed the man, the warmth of Obi-Wan’s mouth, the hard angular lines of their bodies, and how it had been to make love. He had been nervous at first, unsure if he would disappoint but any insecurity disappeared in their time together. He had known infinite pleasure and love in those moments, had felt the bond strengthen between their minds, their connection deepening so that even now he was aware of Obi-Wan, though he could not sense the man’s thoughts clearly or communicate.

The hollowness of the shielded bond brought him back to cold reality. He rubbed knuckles over the edge of his beard, crossing his arms to ward off the permanent chill settling in his bones. Qui-Gon turned, straightening his wrinkled tunics haphazardly and pulling his hair back loosely. He was tired, but he could manage. He walked back towards the cockpit, falling into his normal stride with only a hint of his earlier shakiness.

The auto-repair system was still rebuilding firepower, Qui-Gon checked its perimeters and set it to stabilize the engines again at the end of the next hour. He wanted to have the ship in running order so that if he had to he could break orbit instantaneously. He bent over the holoscreen that was scanning Sh’Tar’va, watching the endless scroll of information speeding by. The computer had compiled several files of information, but it had not been able to give him more than planetary scans. While that was beneficial for scientific research, he needed more exact scans of small ranges of territory, in particular scans of the region Obi-Wan was in now.

Qui-Gon hesitated for a moment before typing in a series of code. Duro computers were difficult to hack into, as they were not hooked to main systems in the same way Republic computers were, most codes simply didn’t work. He tilted his head, watching the code while keeping an eye on the information that the computer was still displaying. He needed to find out more about the individual camps and mines and wherever the Sh’kil were staying as well. Whatever he could find on the Sh’kil or Trevsins would be used as evidence of their business in the slave trade.

Qui-Gon spent hours there, ignoring how his head ached from the blocked connection to Obi-Wan. The hacking was incredibly slow and gave him very little information. He knelt, pulling open the panel concealing the computer’s hardware. He was reluctant to readjust the mechanical rewiring. But there was no other way around it. If he wanted more accurate and in-depth surveillance of Sh’Tar’va he would have to rebuild the hardware. Qui-Gon pushed a loose strand of hair back, thinking hard. He was not extremely skilled when it came to the mechanical workings of things. He knew enough to know what to do, but he did not have Obi-Wan’s talent for rewiring machines.

Qui-Gon paused, a powerful loneliness overwhelming him and he inhaled sharply, resting his forehead against the cool metal base of the console. It was a physical ache in his bones, the need to be there for Obi-Wan. To feel the man’s gaze on him, to see him smile, to work with him and speak with him, to lay near him at night and feel Obi-Wan’s ribcage shift with each breath, his pulse a steady sound beneath Qui-gon’s fingers. The fear of loss swept through Qui-Gon and he remained still and silent until it passed, one large hand gripping the edge of the open panel of the console so that it left a mark against his palm when he finally stood and went to look for parts.

Qui-Gon felt adrift, almost ill. He stopped in the blue lit corridor, one hand on the wall to steady himself. The bond could not remain blocked like this for too long. It was draining him and had to be just as devastating for Obi-Wan, who was in a much worse situation. He closed his eyes, breathing in, reaching for the Force to focus, pushing aside the fear that he could not contain. Obi-Wan was in danger on Sh’Tar’va but there was little Qui-Gon could do.

He kept walking, knowing that he had to fix the computer. With deeper scans he could find Virmu faster and limit the time Obi-Wan spent in slavery, as well as lower the risk of himself or Obi-Wan being discovered by the Sh’kil or the Trevsins. He needed more information on Sh’Tar’va as well, in order to guarantee that the Senate would investigate the planet immediately. Every hour that went by heightened the chance of the Sh’kil contacting the Senate and bartering with them for Virmu’s release. He and Obi-Wan had to rescue Virmu before the slavers were able to negotiate on their own terms.

* * *

Three days passed of constant work on the computer. When Qui-Gon did sleep it was out of necessity, and often he did not return to the cabin but lie down on the cockpit floor, catching perhaps an hour or two of sleep. He always dreamt of Sh’tar’va, or what Obi-Wan must have seen of it. Qui-Gon felt divided about the nightmares as they brought him closer to Obi-Wan in the bond, but revealed a certain brokenness that was not terror and suffering but what terror and suffering wore into over time.

The dreams fueled his need to recover Virmu and Obi-Wan as soon as possible and Qui-Gon worked nonstop for long hours, carefully shutting off parts of the computer to rebuild the hardware. He could not take apart the entire computer at once or the _Zar Ka_ would crash, as its back-up system was busy maintaining what little shields the ship had left. Instead he stripped the nonessential hardware and reconstructed the basic setup of the scanners, programming when he was able to.

Qui-Gon stood from where he was crouched, his muscles sore from sitting so still. He inhaled, still feeling lightheaded from the lack of connection to Obi-Wan. It would have frightened him once, for his sense of self and health to be so wrapped up in the bond, but now he felt only bereft without it. He was reluctant to reach for Obi-Wan, even as concerned as he was. The man’s shields were weak enough that Qui-Gon could potentially overcome the block, but he did not dare disturb Obi-Wan’s focus. The hum of danger drifted through the bond and it was becoming harder to remain calm, to not go down to Sh’Tar’va’s surface and find Obi-Wan.

He had scanned the region near the Lower Ocean without success, but on the third day he was finally able to attempt heat signature scans. He connected the computer back to the Trevsins’ ship and scanned through it. There were various different body temperatures on board, enough that he suspected more than just the Trevsins and Virmu were there. He pulled up the computer’s data on Grelians, inputting the temperature difference. Grelians were, on average, ten degrees colder than the standard body temperature of humans. Qui-Gon waited, unconsciously holding his breath as the holoscreen cycled through the information.

The computer beeped and he focused in on the results. There were seventeen heat signatures that matched that of a Grelian. He titled his head, frowning. It was possible, considering the numerical amount of slaves that had shown on his limited scans of the region’s mine, that there were Grelians there. Though the species’ sensitivity to fumes would affect their health if the camp conditions were as terrible as he feared, Grelians had high pain endurance and could last years of hard labor.

Qui-Gon leaned over the screen, thinking. There were other species that had similar body temperatures. As it was, seventeen results were too many for Obi-Wan to investigate on his own. Qui-Gon stared at the screen, wondering how to narrow down the results. He researched what else he could find on Grelians but there was nothing concrete to program a new scan for. Qui-Gon paused. Virmu would most likely still be guarded by the Trevsins and the Sh’kil. It wouldn’t make sense to release a fully trained Jedi master into the mine, even if she was ill from an extended healing trance.

Qui-Gon looked out past the screens to the viewport of the cockpit. Sh’Tar’va turned under him, a massive white-blue orb, obscuring most of the cloaked ship’s view. Harvest-gears hung as thin rings in the planet’s atmosphere, hundreds of them, each one displaying the location of a camp….Virmu had broken into the northern camp Obi-Wan had been in as a child, it was possible that the Sh’kil would recognize her, especially as Obi-Wan had been the only slave that had successfully escaped them. If they were aware that Virmu was the same Jedi who had helped Obi-Wan escape, would they kill her? Or would they do as Obi-Wan thought they would and attempt to hold her for ransom? Qui-Gon glanced away, returning to the information on the screen. He had to trust Obi-Wan’s judgement that the Sh’kil would use Virmu as leverage with the Senate. Still…they were short on time. They needed to resolve this before the Senate or the Temple became too involved.

He began more lengthy programming, this time to zero in on the location of each heat signature. He did not know if the Trevsins had a different temperature than humans but the Sh’kil were human, Obi-Wan had once said they were descendent from a human research team that had been studying the planet’s ice age. If he could find a Grelian heat signature surrounded by human ones, it would most likely be Virmu’s. Especially as the mine included more diverse species, judging by the multitude of body temperatures shown on his scan of the mine Obi-Wan was in. Qui-Gon glanced again towards Sh’Tar’va’s surface wreathed by atmospheric clouds, studying the shoreline of the Lower Ocean where Obi-Wan was. He stood still, trying to ignore the cold, the freezing ache inside of having the bond blocked.

The reprogramming would take an hour to finish and Qui-Gon set the computer through the auto formatting of it, turning on the alarms to alert him of any danger. Qui-Gon moved to the ship’s pantry, forcing himself to eat when his entire body felt separate from him, a part of him drifting in the closed bond…he needed to speak to Obi-Wan but he would not risk opening the bond now. He sighed in exhaustion, pushing himself up to return to the cabin this time, needing more sleep than the quick moments of rest he had had.

Qui-Gon collapsed on the bed, regulating his breathing, attempting to reach the calm he had always had and now was missing. The exhaustion and cold felt permanent and he knew that a large part of it was Obi-Wan’s feelings that he was experiencing, seeping through the shielded bond. Unease and longing rose in Qui-Gon as he felt his body began to drift into the first level of mediation, sleep beckoning. The nightmares were disjointed, vivid, but in them he could sense Obi-Wan no matter how faintly.

He felt it now, the gentle, invisible probe of another Force sense. Obi-Wan’s presence barely there, the bond opening enough so that their minds touched and Qui-Gon was overwhelmed with a sense of despair, fear, and tight control, as if Obi-Wan was trying desperately not to fall apart. He reached out, offering comfort, embracing through the bond and saying what he could not put into words and Obi-Wan reached back…

_…He was on Fildasape, near the famed Solkor wood. Qui-Gon turned, confused. He did not remember arriving, had he been here long? He stepped forward, silvery grass brushing against his knees. Fildasapian flowers grew on the branches of the enormous trees nearby. The multi-petal flowers were small and dark purple, lightly covering the tree limbs. The flowers gleamed in the soft afternoon sunlight, the cultural symbol of a planet known for its tranquility and beautiful nature._

_He stepped into the woods, reaching out to touch the petals of the nearest flower. He had not been here in so long, since he was a padawan. How strange, to see it unchanged after so many years…A soft wind came, carrying with it the rich clean scent of the flowers and underneath that an odd smell that made it difficult to breathe. Qui-Gon’s lungs tightened against the rotten salty scent and he knew immediately that something was terribly wrong._

_He moved deeper into the crowded wood, sunbeams filtering through the trees and the open field behind him. The smell seemed to come from the base of one of the massive trees and he reluctantly drew nearer, ducking low hanging branches. Qui-Gon edged around the large tree trunk, the stench causing his eyes to water, he tripped over a tree root at the sight before him. A hole had been dug at the giant roots. It was some sort of trench. Naked bodies had been thrown in, decaying limbs twisted. Qui-Gon stepped back, reaching for the tree trunk to steady himself, unable to look away. He remembered now, the Solkor wood had been destroyed years ago when the Fildasapi chose to industrialize. This was not real. The wind blew harshly, yanking at his tunics and hair, pushing the smell of death toward him. Flowers came loose, petals scattering, settling over the corpses below._

Qui-Gon.

_His head jerked up, eyes searching the trees around him._

_“Obi-Wan” he whispered and Obi-Wan was suddenly there, striding toward him with that determined walk Qui-Gon knew so well._

_As he approached Qui-Gon, the quiet forest around them was fading, the ghostly outlines of pillars and windows rose where trees were and they stood in some translucent hall in the Temple, thankfully empty of the dead. Obi-Wan stopped a few feet away. He looked as he had when he had left the_ Zar Ka _. His padawan braid was cut, his dark clothing hanging loose on him, his tattoo visible, his feet bare._

_“You are here.” Qui-Gon said softly and Obi-Wan tilted his head in a nod, his face pale with exhaustion._

_“We are both here,” the younger man paused, than crossed his arms as if cold, “I opened the bond a few minutes ago, we have some time before the dream ends.”_

_Qui-Gon stared at him,_

_“Is this a dream?” he asked, aware of the transparent whiteness around them, the distance between them that he could not seem to cross._

_Obi-Wan frowned,_

_“I don’t know. I believe we may be meeting in the bond while we sleep.” his voice was calm, level, but his blue-green eyes were gray with tiredness and Qui-Gon felt the unbearable need to put his arms around the man._

_“You haven’t slept until now.” He stated more than asked and Obi-Wan lifted a shoulder in a tired shrug._

_“I can’t.” he whispered and Qui-Gon could not bring himself to ask why._

_He studied the face of the man he loved. Obi-Wan looked so young, only his eyes displayed an ancient sort of grief before the smaller man blinked, his voice firming, his gaze intent as he looked up at Qui-Gon._

_“What have you found?”_

_Qui-Gon tilted his head, not having to ask what he meant._

_“I’ve reprogrammed the computer to give more detailed scans. The amount of information on population numbers alone could convict the Sh’kil.”_

_A line appeared between Obi-Wan’s brows,_

_“We need something more than that, something absolute. I won’t allow the Senate to ignore this anymore.”_

_“I’m readjusting data to focus on heat signatures. I’ve found seventeen possibilities for Virmu’s location, but I’m assuming she’s either in Sh’kil headquarters or the Trevsin ship.”_

_Obi-Wan nodded, he glanced up at Qui-Gon._

_“We’re running out of time. We have to find her before the Sh’kil contact the Senate. And if she’s still in a trance, it will be more dangerous to her health the longer she is in it.”_

_Qui-Gon touched Obi-Wan’s mind with his own, feeling the openness of the bond, a rawness that was almost cleansing. To be able to speak with Obi-Wan, to provide comfort…_

_“Are you alright?” he asked softly and Obi-Wan sighed, looking so tired that Qui-Gon longed to hold him._

_“It’s harder than I thought.” Obi-Wan said, his low voice rough with repressed emotion, he shook his head, “there may be a way that I can get into Sh’kil headquarters. I’ve heard that it’s connected to the mine and there is someone here that might help me find a way in.”_

_Qui-Gon stared at him,_

_“Breaking into Sh’kil territory is too dangerous, Obi-Wan, they could kill you, especially as you’ve escaped them before –“ He broke off as Obi-Wan gasped, the bond jerking with sudden tension._

_“Are you hurt?” Qui-Gon demanded urgently, aware of a jarring pain beginning to hum through him and around them._

_Obi-Wan glanced away, he looked so tired, his gaze distant even as he reached a hand outwards. Qui-Gon extended his own hand but could not bridge the enforced distance between them, the taste of salt burned in his mouth suddenly. He was breathing heavily, unable to bring enough air to his lungs, hands clenched against the building pain, Obi-Wan grimaced, turning away._

_“Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon cried out but the world around him plunged into blinding whiteness._

_Images and sounds came suddenly, the falling pod, the cold rush of water, a massive room, searching…searching…searching…Obi-Wan was trying to tell him something but everything moved too fast to understand. Qui-Gon’s senses began to overload, sound bleeding into smells, his stomach turning, his body unsure where it was, what was even happening... A loud beeping broke through the chaos, awareness tugging at him even as he fought it…_

His gaze flew to the ceiling, for a half-second he was still drowning in the confusion and pain before the bond slammed shut again and he was aware that an alarm was going off. Qui-Gon rolled out of bed, breaking into a run. Inside the cockpit the alert sensors were shrilling and he waved a hand, using the Force to shut them down. Qui-Gon switched the computer to scan the space around the _Zar Ka_. No ships were in the area, nor had any left. He relaxed slightly, certain that Virmu and Obi-Wan were still on the planet at least. He calculated the trajectory of another objects in orbit, searching for what caused the alarm, his heart still racing as he remembered Obi-Wan’s pain from the dream, that brief instant contact before the bond was shielded once again. The scans brought up enough information that Qui-Gon saw that it was a tiny asteroid locked in Sh’Tar’va’s orbit that had passed close enough to alert the ship.

He fell into the pilot’s seat, turning the dream over and over in his mind, His muscles tense with dread. Obi-Wan was suffering, he could sense it, the shields over the bond were frail, worn thin. Qui-Gon breathed tightly, staring at the scans scrolling across the computer, but not seeing them. He was lost in frustration and fear. If he remained in orbit, he allowed Obi-Wan’s suffering to continue, but he would destroy the entire mission if he entered Sh’Tar’va’s atmosphere. He closed his eyes, willing himself to remain detached from his emotions. He could not rescue Obi-Wan, not without endangering his beloved’s life, as well as Virmu’s. Qui-Gon had no other choice but to wait. He sighed, resting his head in his hands, his body aching, his mind jumbled with nightmares and truth. Obi-Wan was right, they were running out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this separation between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon is killing me too. But hey, at least they get to meet in dreams!
> 
> I literally made everything up about technology. I have no idea what is or isn’t possible for computers in star wars. I decided a long time ago though that Qui-Gon would be a math geek in here who was really good at hacking and coding. I have no idea why, since I am not that great with tech or math. Its probably because Obi-Wan would find Qui-Gon’s math skills attractive or something… ;)


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy Yoda everyone… I had so much homework the first chunk of this chapter that I ended up writing whenever I could get a chance. On the plus side I’ve completed lots of charcoal artwork and kicked my history test’s butt (also I wrote a really long chapter). Yay! I’m nearing the end of the semester, so hopefully after the next chapter we should be back to two week updates. :) I’m not going to give away much of what’s in this chapter, but it is Obi-Wan’s pov and does need a TRIGGER WARNING. No noncon, but graphic violence. Please let me know what you think! :)

Hours passed without being measured. There was no day or night in the salt mine, no way of knowing how long Obi-Wan worked. At first he tried to keep track of it by estimating the amount of time it took for each salt load to be dug from the walls. But it was pointless and he gave that up. Any energy he still had was put toward finding a way to get to Virmu and trying to survive until he did.

It was worse than Obi-Wan remembered…the brutality, the despair…he could not escape it, every new atrocity reminded him of the past. Buried memories crowded around him, unable to be held back. They were like dark stones being lifted up, revealing terrible things. Obi-Wan did not think he could continue to endure, if it were not for the bond, even as shielded as it was. Keeping it blocked was nearly impossible and he could feel his resolve weakening. He wanted Qui-Gon near him, but he could not risk reaching for the man, not again.

Obi-Wan had gone without sleep to keep himself safe from the interest of other slaves, and to monitor his shielding of the bond. But last night, or what accounted for night…he had fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion and the bond had opened and Qui-Gon had been there…it had felt so right to have the man near, even if they were unable to touch. They had at least discussed the situation and Obi-Wan had been able to remember what it was like to be free.

He had regained shielding on waking, but it was shaky. He would not be able to hold everything back for much longer, or go without sleep under the working conditions of the mine. The lack of food he could ignore. He had not eaten since leaving the _Zar Ka_ , but he was accustomed to not eating regularly. Even with his insides tight with hunger he still found he had little appetite. That in itself was a relief, to be spared another distraction from his focus on finding Virmu. Now it was thirst, pain, the fear of discovery that worried him. That, and the blocked bond. He longed for Qui-Gon’s warmth in the terrible cold, the man’s comfort while facing such darkness. But Obi-Wan could not allow himself to reach for the man. If he did, Qui-Gon would come for him and they would lose their chance to find Virmu, to escape.

Numbly he gathered the rock salt he had broken off, hauling it towards a crate. He moved with the same energy as the other slaves, exhausted but too afraid to stop. He looked like any other male human there now. Salt was crusted on his skin, it stung his eyes, burned his mouth, his hands were battered and scraped from digging the rock salt from the cliff wall. His short hair was matted with salt and sweat, his dark clothes almost unrecognizable underneath the white halite dust clinging to him. Blood smeared from scrapes and bruises from the crowding and jostling of other slaves when they waited in lines, the cut on his arm had not yet healed. Ash settled against him from the constantly running boilers. Obi-Wan no longer had to suppress his gag reflex when it came to the stench emitting from the boilers. He had adjusted to it enough that he doubted in a few weeks time that he would even notice.

There was a systematic violence to how he and the other slaves lived now, working beyond exhaustion. Obi-Wan had already grown used to the bodies of the slaves who collapsed from the work or were beaten to death, having to step over them to move crates from one side of the mine to the other. He still could not bring himself to wheel the heavy cart that hauled the rock salt over the corpses, though the other slaves did so without thought. The boilers ran day and night and the smell of death clouded the cold air of the mine without providing heat. He was cold all the time, but found he could ignore it. There were worse things to endure in the mine.

The mine was where they spent the majority of their time, carving salt from the walls, hauling it, loading it on the giant work cranes. Already he could do such jobs mechanically, keeping his mind focused elsewhere, on finding Virmu and on keeping the bond blocked. The mine was more heavily patrolled than he had first thought, there was little chance of slipping away, of finding where the Sh’kil headquarters were. He bit his lip, keeping his head down and remaining silent even when the guards would approach and lash out with leather whips indiscriminately at him and the others. The threat of being discovered hung over Obi-Wan, as he not only had to conceal his identity from the guards, but also from the other slaves. Still, it broke every Jedi principle to watch others suffer without being able to help.

It was impossible to avoid pain. His scarred hands were newly cut, fingertips bruised from digging rock salt out of the wall. His body stung and burned as salt dust rubbed into open wounds from a lashmark or a scrape. White dust clung to him, his skin chafed and peeling from the dryness of the air. He was so thirsty, his lips cracked, bleeding. They were never fed or watered in the mine, only when they returned to the camp. The thirst drove Obi-Wan and the others on, even the weakest working to get to the brief moment of rest in the camp, the promise of a drink or two of water. Obi-Wan had given up remaining distant from the other slaves by avoiding the jostling at the water barrel in the camp, his sole purpose rested on finding Virmu as soon as possible and to do that, he needed water.

Even drinking from the barrel at evening could not prevent dehydration and Obi-Wan’s mouth and throat seared from the salt dust and thirst, his tongue felt swollen, unwieldy. His head ached constantly and he felt a strong sense of vertigo every time he stopped moving. He could counter the health consequences by using the Force, but it drained him further and made him vulnerable to attack as he was not skilled enough in Force healing to not fall into mediation to resolve injuries.

Obi-Wan pried another chunk of salt out of the wall, feeling the sharp cliff rock push under his nails, threatening to pull them off. He matched his pace to the others, but even with his Jedi training in endurance and strength, he was exhausted. It was an inhuman weariness caused more from the horror of the mine, then the never-ending work.

The salt mine was different than the mine he had worked in as a child, it was supervised less by enlightened slaves and more by guards, most of which were human, though Obi-Wan was unsure if they were Sh’kilian or not. Fights did not break out often among the slaves as they had at the northern camp, everyone was too busy working to live a little longer. Scavenging was widespread and Cage was the most proficient at it. Obi-Wan could not help but admire her nerve at boldly stealing from even the enlightened slaves.

A guard walked past, lashing out with his whip apathetically. The blow struck the slave near him across the shoulder, an older Theelin female who stumbled and gave a small stifled cry. Obi-Wan shifted automatically, moving slightly so the next lash fell more on him as the guard passed by. The woman did not acknowledge him further than a quick glance of gratitude, blood trailing down her purple dappled shoulder, her slender arms swollen from water retention. Obi-Wan returned to his work, feeling cold air rush against the gap in his shirt where the whip had torn. He did not feel the pain anymore of being struck, only a strange wet heat and pressure when it happened. He had not experienced a direct beating yet. He did not know when that might happen. He clawed at the rock wall, tearing loose another mass of salt, ignoring the muscles in his body that protested, the pain in his limbs, his head. He was so tired and thirsty.

His life before, with Virmu, then with Qui-Gon…it was like a dream. Obi-Wan had lived in a northern camp and now he was in another camp and the time between felt unreal. He thought of Qui-Gon, orbiting above Sh’Tar’va, loosely blocked from his mind. He clenched his jaw, digging at the cliff walls. He needed to find Virmu, that was the only way out. Obi-Wan grimaced as he scraped salt from the wall, each breath tinged with pain and thirst. He was blocking Qui-Gon whenever he could, but it was draining him to do so. He knew that he wouldn’t last much longer if he maintained such shielded distance. But he could not let Qui-Gon’s mind in, not when the conditions of the camp threatened to destabilize everything.

Numbly he gathered the rock salt he had broken off, into his arms, hauling the load toward a crate. Obi-Wan tipped the rocks into the crate. Lifting his head, as if to blink the salt dust out of his eyes, he scanned the balcony running high above the work floor, watchful as he examined the placement of the guards. It was the same as always, two near the door and others scattered along the different ramps. There were more on the work floor and Obi-Wan knew he would draw their attention if he remained stationary for too long.

He went back for another load, dumping it in the crate and glancing up again as a sudden movement caught his eye. Two figures were walking down the stairs, stopping at the edge of the balcony. Obi-Wan looked sharply up at them for a split second, memorizing the two men. One of them was a tall, muscular Trevsin, his silvery skin clearly visible in a sleeveless shirt, a heavy blaster rifle strapped across his chest. He wore a strange dark metal helmet that fit tightly to the skull and came down over the upper half of his face like a mask. The other man was slightly shorter, and thin. He was Sh’kilian, with the very pale skin, shaved head and prematurely lined face that many of them seemed to have. Obi-Wan guessed his height to be near six feet, the man not particularly young or old. Their was nothing remarkable about his features, the Sh’kil were notable for remaining expressionless. But there was power conveyed in how the man moved, power that was not connected to his plain black robes, his average build. This was a man used to being obeyed without question.

Obi-Wan dropped his eyes. He moved back toward the wall, glancing to the side as Cage slipped in near him. He had sensed her nearby, but only because of his attunement in the Force. She moved silently and quickly and there were a few times she would have surprised him if he weren’t constantly alert for danger. Beneath the dust and salt coating her brown freckled skin, she was pale. Obi-Wan saw fear in her eyes as she glanced swiftly at him, then let her gaze flicker towards the balcony, giving a subtle jerk of her head. She was trying to tell him something and Obi-Wan met her gaze openly, afraid to know what had broken her calm.

“Skausk,” she murmured, Obi-Wan tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement but said nothing.

Slaves were not allowed to speak to one another. Cage however worked at the rock in front of her, not looking at Obi-Wan. He knew instantly that she was referring to the man in the dark coat, the Sh’kilian that stood near the Trevsin, surveying the teeming mine with a face blank of anything but perhaps boredom. Obi-Wan continued working, thinking furiously. Skausk was the leader of the Sh’kil in this location. He would know where Virmu was. It would be him who would contact Coruscant about Virmu, as the Trevsins would not dare to usurp the Sh’kil’s power in that matter.

Though the slaves rarely spoke to one another, even in the camp, Obi-Wan had heard enough to know that Skausk held a terrifying power over their lives. He occasionally took slaves that were healthy for his own pleasure and Obi-Wan’s mouth dried so that it was difficult to swallow as he remembered Cage’s warning when he had first arrived, that Skausk would want him.

He avoided Cage’s glance now, working with the same pace as the other slaves, they had sped up, the mine resembling a insect-like hive with workers too afraid to stop, to display weakness or interest to their overlord. Bitterness rose in Obi-Wan, then worry as he saw the Theelin near him falter at the increased pace, the woman still weak from the earlier whipping and the constant edema. His own injuries were long ago forgotten, even fatigue gone as a guttural command from the balcony came from the masked Trevsin. It was taken up by the guards, Obi-Wan’s mind too numb to decipher the words from the fragments of the Trevsin language that he knew.

Work stopped swiftly. Guards pushed through the slaves, lashing out with stun batons and whips, herding them into the center of the main floor. The stench from the boilers washed over them as a wave of smoke and faint heat. Obi-Wan was pulled into the crowd, shoved by panicking slaves and angry guards. A fist caught the side of his jaw and he staggered but kept his footing. It was a swirl of panic around him and he stumbled again. This had not happened at the northern camp. There were too many guards to think about escaping, he was hemmed in, almost trampled by the crush of slaves in such a small area.

“Form lines!” the order was barked out and the slaves that understood Basic rushed to obey, the other slaves following in fearful obedience.

The weaker slaves were pulled into the quickly forming rows by enlightened guards who then compliantly joined the lines. Only the Sh’kilian guards now prowled freely, lashing at the edges of the rows with their whips. Obi-Wan stood still behind a large Malastarian, his breath tightly controlled, his eyes surveying the area as much as he could see. The Malastarian in front of him shifted and Obi-Wan felt himself jostled forward. Across from him he saw Cage, further down the line facing him. For a moment their eyes met, Obi-Wan felt a burst of fear, almost overwhelming his shields. If she was afraid, then something terrible must be happening.

Dread rose from the silent shivering slaves. Some of them moved their mouths in unheard prayer, others shut their eyes. The emotion was overwhelming, coursing through him, slamming against his shields and he tried to mentally retreat, but he had nowhere to go. The bond bent beneath the strain of the building fear and Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon on the other side, trying to reach for him…

The man on the balcony stepped forward, the Trevsin following him. For a moment Skausk stared down at the rows of hundreds of slaves, then pointed, the Trevsin barking out orders next to him. The guards pushed into the lines, pulling out slaves and shoving them into a clearing that was rapidly made as the lines were pushed back toward the walls. Skausk lifted his hand, pointing at Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan braced himself as a guard dove into their line, but instead the Sh’kilian guard yanked a slave out that had been standing near Obi-Wan, dragging her forward a few paces. It was the older Theelin woman. She was shaking, staggering to a halt at the guard’s command. The small clearing now had a dozen slaves in it, and two that looked as if they had been enlightened. The sour smell of unwashed bodies pressed close in the cold mine was lost to the unbearable stench of the boilers. Obi-Wan felt lightheaded by the fear humming through the Force, burrowing past his shields.

He stared at the shivering back of the Theelin in front of him. Her matted orange hair was caked in salt, he could hear her whimpering over the ragged breathing around him. On the balcony he saw Skausk nod. Obi-Wan only had time for a burst of confusion and foreboding. He looked up, the Force jolting with warning as the masked Trevsin stepped forward, yanking his blaster up and firing down into the mine clearing. Slaves recoiled but did not break rank. Obi-Wan jerked backwards instinctively as the Theelin screamed, light purple blood spraying outwards as she was blown apart in front of him. The other slaves in the clearing fell, few having time to cry out. In seconds it was over, guards moving forward to kick the lifeless bodies into a pile.

Obi-Wan snapped his head up, his ears still ringing from the shots, his gaze frozen on the balcony, panic churning in him. The masked Trevsin slipped his gun back into its holster, turning to say something to Skausk who answered the question with an indifferent remark. There was no enjoyment or despair on their faces, more a sense of normality, a bored satisfaction of removing slaves no longer fit to work.

Obi-Wan stood still, numb even as some signal came and slaves scattered back to their work, the enlightened slaves moving forward to grab the remains of the executed, hauling them towards the boilers. One of the shot slaves in the pile was still twitching and Obi-Wan stepped forward without thinking. A hand grabbed his arm, Cage holding him back. He swung to face her. Her expression was stony as she half dragged, half led him back to the cliff wall.

“You do anything, it will be you next that Skausk kills,” she hissed, her warning low enough that Obi-Wan almost didn’t catch it.

He stared at him. She pushed him toward the cliff wall, her hand streaking the purple blood spattered over his arm. Mechanically Obi-Wan returned to work, his mind reeling, the shields he had constructed around the bond threatening to break apart at so much held back. He was shaking, unsure if it was anger or fear or shock. He felt something close to hatred for the Sh’kil, for Skausk and for himself. He should have done something, should have known what was going to happen.

He looked down at the rocks jumbled at his bare scraped feet. His bruised fingers clung to the cliff, as much for support as to pry the rock salt off. The Theelin’s blood stained his clothes, splashed over his limbs so that his hands shook, his stomach rebelling at what had just occurred. Cage worked near him, eyeing him and Obi-Wan knew that she saw how close he was to losing control. He inhaled deeply, forcing aside the nausea, the broken elements of him that wanted to reach for Qui-Gon. He could feel his beloved on the other side of the blocked bond, trying to reconnect, sensing bits and pieces of Obi-Wan’s emotions, the pain, anger, stunned fear…he closed his eyes briefly before forcing them open to concentrate on his work. He had never felt less like a Jedi before.

He gathered up an armload of rock salt, moving to the crates, chancing a glance at the balcony. Skausk and the Trevsin had left. A mix of different types of blood smeared the main floor and slaves trudged through the pools left there. The boilers were churning out heat but no one dared move close to its warmth after the shooting, they all worked single-mindedly, as if desperately trying to prove to each other and themselves their ability to still be useful. Ash fell constantly and Obi-Wan swallowed convulsively. How had he thought that he would ever get use to that smell? He moved back toward the wall and Cage turned her head. Blood from other slaves had stained her clothes as well, but any fear she had was gone, locked away. Obi-Wan wondered how many executions she had seen, how long she had been there, trying to keep herself and Mem’vokla alive.

“You can’t do anything about it,” she muttered suddenly and Obi-Wan sensed her empty reassurance for both of them.

He lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug, increasing his pace, trying to separate his anger from the Force. They worked silently near each other. Occasionally she disappeared, perhaps to check on Mem’vokla, but she always returned. Her presence, as uncertain as he was about her loyalty, meant something and Obi-Wan’s mind, still numbed by what he had seen, returned to his focus of finding Virmu. He could not leave her in the hands of the Sh’kil or the Trevsins any longer. He needed into Sh’kil headquarters. He shifted to get a stubborn piece of rock out of the wall, his back aching, his fingers throbbing. When he dropped it onto the pile he bent slightly toward Cage.

“I want to speak to Skausk,” he muttered low enough that the patrolling guards could not hear, but clear enough that he knew she would not mistake what he said.

Cage jerked her head up, staring at him for a second before returning to her work.

“Maybe you want to die?” she hissed roughly, “Is that it?”

Obi-Wan kept his voice level, his throat dry and burning with thirst.

“Does that matter?”

She shrugged, scraping off another piece of rock salt and dropping it to the ground.

“Not to me, I have enough to do keeping Memv safe. I don’t know who you are, but I know you’re not from here. And Skausk will know that too.”

The warning displayed what might have been concern somewhere else. Obi-Wan frowned and felt a surge of lightheadedness as he straightened to dig out another part of the rock salt. Adrenaline and exhaustion warred inside him,

“He has someone I’m looking for.”

Cage glanced at him again, her gaze reflective, for a brief moment Obi-Wan saw loss in her dark eyes, but it vanished, her expression hardening.

“Anything the Sh’kil take, they keep,” she snapped.

Obi-Wan bent, gathering more rocks into his arms,

“No,” he said firmly, “Not this time.”

The certainty in his voice caused Cage to stop her work momentarily, looking hard at him as if she was seeing something she had never seen before. She exhaled roughly, turning away and they worked the rest of the time in silence.

* * *

When they were finally shoved into line to return to the camp, Obi-Wan felt muted distress. He was so tired, so thirsty and he hurt all over. Worse was the need for Qui-Gon, it warred with the knowledge that he could not risk exposing Qui-Gon to his own mind. He had not yet dealt with what had happened. He could still see the Theelin in front of him, shivering, her low whimper heartbreakingly animalistic. He could still feel the hatred seeping through his bones, the rage, the self-disgust that he had done nothing to prevent what had happened. Other slaves shoved him forward as they pushed into the low room that made up their camp. Slaves swarmed the water barrel, fighting to get what they could. Obi-Wan took a step forward, stopping. He was numb, shaking slightly. Blood and salt were caked to him. Purple blood. His hands clenched instinctively into fists, still hearing the shots, the scream. It opened other parts of his mind that had remained silent until now, rising memories of blood on him as he fought other slaves in the northern camp. The unbearable cold, the fear…

He pushed himself forward, slipping in between two slaves, glimpsing his distorted reflection on the water that thrashed in the barrel as slaves clawed it into their mouths. Obi-Wan caught half a handful, scooping it close to his mouth so he could drink what didn’t slip away. It was cold, stale, and unbearably salty from the dust settling on it from their skin. It burned his split lips. He grabbed another handful, getting his shirt hem wet. He backed away from the jostling rush, toward a still empty cot.

Obi-Wan sat gratefully on the nearly nonexistent mattress. He stripped his shirt off, uncaring of the cold. He was already numb, it could not get worse. He used the wet shirt to wipe blood from his arms and face, scrubbing sensitive skin, salt stinging him, the purple blood flaking off. Obi-Wan sensed someone watching, he looked up. A humanoid male stood a few feet away, looking at him. Obi-Wan met his gaze flatly. It was a silent exchange. The man expressing his intent with one look, Obi-Wan’s cold stare making it clear that he would kill the man if he tried to touch him. After a minute the man conceded by looking away, obviously not willing to risk his life for a few minutes of crude pleasure.

Obi-Wan wiped the rest of the blood away that would come off. His ribs stood out beneath his palm, he had lost more weight so quickly. The lack of food, the constant work, the stress, it was reducing him to bones and he felt some relief in that. He thought how wonderful it would be to become a ghost, to just disappear completely.

He pulled his shirt back on, his mouth dry, aching for another drink of water. He smelled the boilers still, churning away their extra burdens of the day. He sat still, on the cot, oblivious to the track of time. Footsteps came, approaching his cot. Obi-Wan looked up. a woman stood there and for a moment he did not recognize her, before he registered her blue skin and lekku. Mem’vokla. Of course. He shook his head wordlessly. He must be more tired than he thought, or perhaps he was already becoming unstable. She sat down on the edge of his bed, brow creased in thought. Obi-Wan looked at her, numbly aware of her youth and beauty, only faintly marred by the conditions of the mine. She looked back at him,

“You want to speak to Skausk?” she asked quietly. Obi-Wan blinked, wondering how much Cage had told her, than dismissed it. It did not matter. In many ways, Mem’vokla would be a better ally than Cage. He nodded, biting back a hiss of pain as his shirt rubbed against the lashmark along his back.

“Why?” she asked him, confusion and tension infused in that tight word.

Obi-Wan swallowed, shifting his gaze to stare blankly at the group of slaves still huddled around the water barrel.

“He took someone I know captive,” he whispered.

Mem’vokla frowned, biting her lip.

“You have to understand… your friend is dead now,” she said, not unkindly, her dark eyes showing fear and the resignation of knowledge earned through suffering, “You have to put it out of your mind.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, his jaw tightening with stubbornness, even as he felt his limbs shake, his head pounding, the shields around the bond threatening to unravel.

“I will find her,” he stated the words quietly, with great firmness. She stared at him, in the same way Cage had in the mine.

“Are you a slave, or not?” Mem’vokla demanded incredulously and Obi-Wan sensed more than heard Cage approach, the tall woman carrying a dirty jug.

He ignored her as he had everyone else, keeping his eyes focused now on the mattress. He was reluctant to reveal his past, but there was no alternative. He was running out of time and the Force told him he could trust Cage and Mem’vokla, at least for now.

“My…my teacher helped me escape from a northern camp. Now I do the same for her.”

Cage raised an eyebrow at their conversation, but said nothing, she took a drink from the filthy jug and Obi-Wan smelled the nothingness of water and salt. Mem’vokla was staring at him now, arms crossed against the cold.

“She is here?” the Twi’lek asked softly and Obi-Wan lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug.

“Not in the mine, but it’s possible she is in Sh’kil headquarters. Even if she is not, Skausk will know where she is.”

Cage handed the jug to Mem’vokla,

“You’re insane if you think you can break into their headquarters and confront Skausk,” she hissed almost venomously, but her fingers were gentle as they absently brushed salt from Mem’vokla’s shoulder.

Obi-Wan looked up at her coldly.

“I would have done it already, if I knew where their headquarters were.”

Cage tilted her head, giving him that same appraising look that she had the first time they had met. He wondered if she had changed her opinion about him, whatever that may be. Mem’vokla interrupted their silent battle of wills.

“I know where it is.”

“Memv—” Cage said but Mem’vokla shook her head, silencing the other woman, the Twi’lek sat still for a long time before speaking quietly, barely heard over the splashing grasps for water in the room. The jug was held tightly, forgotten in her lap.

“When I came here, I was with my mother. Skausk…he wanted her because she was so beautiful, even among Twi’leks. The Trevsin slavers brought both of us to the Sh’kil headquarters. They debated about what to do with me, but I was younger then and ultimately I was sent to the mines.”

She looked away, at the cold rock wall. “I never saw my mother again.”

Obi-Wan sat, unsure of what to say, Cage placed a battered freckled hand on Mem’vokla’s shoulder briefly, then stepped forward, bony knee bumping against the low cot.

“If we help you we would be risking not just our lives, but the safety of all the slaves. There is nothing you can promise worth doing that.”

Her honesty was a relief and Obi-Wan nodded.

“I only need to know where it is, I won’t get you involved.”

Cage made a slight noise of irritation.

“We are already involved. If Skausk catches you, which he will, he will torture you until you tell him exactly what you did and who you spoke to.”

She sat down, Mem’vokla moving over to make room. The flimsy cot creaked under all three of their starved bodies.

“I give you credit, you made it this far, but now there is more at stake,” Cage said, looking hard at him.

Obi-Wan looked back. He saw himself in her eyes, who he might have been, if he had not had to kill in the northern camp, if he had not been rescued, if he had not been on the brink of insanity back then. She studied him for a long moment before taking the jug from Mem’vokla and drinking from it.

“So what can you give that will make this worth it?” she challenged him.

Obi-Wan looked at her, than over at Mem’vokla, the two women shoulder to shoulder. Mem’vokla was smaller, better fed, though still too thin. Somehow in all the pain and death and fear, they loved each other. Just as he loved Qui-Gon. A heaviness came over his body, the weight of sorrow as he acknowledged the very real possibility that he would never escape, never feel Qui-Gon’s arms again. He would fail Virmu as she had said he always would. He was only a slave now. He had no power, nothing.

As Obi-Wan considered his options, he was reminded of something else. The bond strained against his shields, the Force was still there within his grasp, his lightsaber pressed against his leg as he sat forward. These things alone did not make him a Jedi, but it would do for now. He knew Cage wanted an answer but he found it difficult to formulate all that he was thinking, the numbness was fading to be replaced with thoughts and words. Obi-Wan shook his head. He spoke calmly, with a voice raw from thirst, each sentence measured.

“What would you give to see the sky again? To go home?” he paused before continuing, quiet enough that only they could hear, “I can’t guarantee your own individual freedom but I can guarantee the freedom of future slaves, as well as an end to the Sh’kil. Isn’t that worth it?”

Obi-Wan expected Cage to dismiss him all together, but surprisingly both women exchanged a glance before Cage faced him with contempt.

“Freedom? That’s just a word.”

“But you could make it more. You know you could,” he replied with the same unshakable certainty.

Mem’vokla leaned forward, frowning again,

“It’s impossible to end slavery,” she whispered, but Obi-Wan could not miss the slight note of hope in her voice.

He straightened his shoulders, putting aside all masks, he fixed them both with the single-minded look of a Jedi intent on completing a mission, no matter the personal cost.

“This is the end, right now. Once the Sh’kil fall, so will the Trevsins. Without their output into the slave trade, Ol/korvin and Har-fo`e will fall as well.”

There was silence, both women watching him closely before Cage picked up the dirty jug, handing it to him, precious water sloshing inside.

“How are we going to do this then?” she asked and Obi-Wan gave a small grim smile, tipping the jug back for a drink, tasting dirt, salty water, and blood in his mouth.

* * *

Obi-Wan did not sleep. He knew he needed it, but he could not afford to lose control of the mental shields he had up over the bond. If he dreamt of Qui-Gon again, he would not be able to keep the bond blocked. He would be lost to it and unable to do what needed to be done to find Virmu. He was not stable enough to risk exposing Qui-Gon’s mind unshielded to his own, not yet.

He sat on the hard mattress, slowly drinking from the jug Cage had left. He was exhausted, he could not prevent his thoughts from returning to the earlier shooting, but his hands were steady now as he gripped the jug, going over the plan in his mind. Though he would rather not involve others, he was grateful to have Cage and Mem’vokla’s help. He could not hope to do this alone.

Obi-Wan swallowed another mouthful of water. Before she and Mem’vokla had returned to their cot, Cage had tossed him the shirt she had stolen from the Bith when he had first arrived. He had put it on without caring anymore that he had seen the dead body she had stripped it from. The shirt was too large on him, the collar slipping almost off his shoulder, but it was marginally warmer, the oversized shape of it large enough that he could conceal his lightsaber beneath it.

In the dark, he rolled up the loose pant leg of his salt-caked trousers, unbuckling the holster that held his lightsaber, he slid it down his thigh. The holster had extra leather straps that went around the leg to keep it firmly on. He disconnected those and braided the straps together, long enough that it would wrap around his torso now. He pulled the shirt up tying the straps securely at his waist, over his undershirt. He clipped the holster to it. It wasn’t exactly the utility belt he had once worn but it would do. His lightsaber now bumped against his hip. Obi-Wan pulled the shirt back on, grateful that the shirt hem fell low enough and was loose enough that no-one would see the shape of the lightsaber.

An hour later the bell sounded for work and Obi-Wan joined the forming line of tired slaves, slipping in front of Cage and Mem’vokla. They moved in silence, the three of them connected by their plan. When the slaves entered the mine, Obi-Wan turned left, walking toward the cliff wall. Cage followed, deliberately choosing to work with several slaves between them. They did not need the guards to suspect that they knew each other, a fact that could have been picked up on by Cage grabbing his arm after the shooting.

Obi-Wan did not look up from his work, but he knew Mem’vokla had moved across the huge room to where she normally was. She and several other slaves handled the less damaging work of hauling crates unto enormous cranes. The cranes than hoisted the rock salt up to the upper levels to be crushed and sorted into finer grained salt.

Everything was going as planned, and he continued working, hearing the slaves digging near him, smelling salt and the constant stench of the boiler, but beneath his eyelids Obi-Wan saw only the plan and each goal they had to reach. He scraped rock salt from the walls, hauling them into crates, surveying the balcony when he had a chance. He had no way of estimating the time, but he saw two guards shift on the balcony, beginning to switch places with the guards on other levels.

Obi-Wan gathered another load of rocks, dropping them in the crate and grabbing the handles of the laden down cart. He saw Cage do the same with the cart near her. They both moved toward the cranes. Obi-Wan kept his face calm, his hands firm as he maneuvered through the crowd of working slaves, wheeling around a collapsed slave whose swollen limbs twitched faintly.

On the other side of the room, they reached the massive cranes. Slaves swarmed around the huge machines, two slaves staggering under the weight of each crate of rock salt as they dumped it on the crane. Three metal walls surrounded the platform of each crane, protecting the mineral from spilling out. Mem’vokla moved among the other slaves, notable for her blue skin. She saw them and immediately swung forward to unload the crates. Obi-Wan and Cage joined the other slaves, helping empty Cage’s cart first, the crates emptied into the nearest crane.

As Obi-Wan moved through the rush of slaves, he worked his way toward the control system that operated the crane, he studied it for half a second before turning back to the carts. Cage’s was rapidly being emptied. It was his turn now. He reached out, grasping the Force, pushing back the bond that rose up, Qui-Gon automatically reaching for him. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, blocking out all sight and sound, ignoring the slaves who hurried around him, working. He gestured slightly with his hand at his side. The heavy cart he had wheeled to the crane tipped suddenly, spilling its crates. The slaves scrambled past him to try to gather up the minerals. A guard glanced over, approaching. Obi-Wan strode toward the crane, sensing Cage and Mem’vokla following after a brief pause at the suddenness of what had happened. He had told them only that he would cause a distraction, they had no idea he was a Jedi and the longer he kept it that way, the better.

In seconds, they had climbed unto the crane platform, Obi-Wan flipping the controls with the Force, the fourth wall of the platform rose upwards with a grinding noise impossible to hear in the sounds of the mine. They were now essentially in a large metal box, unable to see above the platform walls as they lie flat on the rock salt, Mem’vokla concealed under Cage and him to hide her skin from being noticed. As it was, they were all covered in enough dust that they mostly blended in with the rock salt. The crane began to move, hoisting upward. There was a slight commotion below them but Obi-Wan hoped it was about the spilled cart and not the crane. With any luck, the guards and slaves would believe that someone had accidentally brushed the ascent controls in the rush around the fallen cart. The crane was already almost filled and it was unlikely that it would be stopped. The crane continued winding upwards, the platform shuddering beneath them. Obi-Wan looked over, meeting Cage’s dark eyes, feeling Mem’vokla’s warm breath against his shoulder as they lie still. With a jolt the crane halted, swinging in the open air, smoke from the boilers washing over them, the ceiling much closer now.

“It should go to level three,” Mem’vokla reminded them softly, and after a brief moment the crane swayed.

Obi-Wan felt it lower, his fingers tightened on the rock salt beneath him, his lungs burning with thirst. His dislike of closed in spaces was rising the longer he lie there. Finally he heard the crane platform lock in against something, shuddering.

“Now,” he hissed and they sat up, Obi-Wan crouching near the platform edge.

He could hear the sound of the crushing machines, the pounding vibrations shuddering through them and knew they had only seconds. His knowledge of salt mines was limited, but Mem’vokla and Cage had given him enough information to know that the cranes took the rock salt to level three where it would be dumped unto a giant conveyer belt and fed into a spiked wheel that broke the rock salt apart.

The crane’s front wall shuddered, then begin to lower. Without hesitation, Obi-Wan swung over the edge, risking a glance back to see Cage and Mem’vokla quickly follow. The noise was roaring now, the rolling floor beneath them dragging them closer, so that Obi-Wan saw the whirling spiked wheel through the approaching door. Below them was a stationary level and they jumped, Obi-Wan using the Force to slow their descent so that they landed without damage. Quickly they darted down stairs and into the welcome shadow of an alcove. They were on the opposite side from where the balcony was that Obi-Wan had first entered the mine and where Skausk had ordered the executions the day before. He looked for a way out, hearing the two women breathing heavily near him, Mem’vokla trembling.

“There,” Obi-Wan murmured, and gestured slightly to Cage. She saw where he was looking and nodded.

Another level below led to a door that would take them out of the mine’s main floor. From there, Mem’vokla would hopefully know how to get to Sh’kil headquarters. They dropped down to the next level, Obi-Wan using the Force again to break their fall. His energy wavered, slowed by the blocked bond and his own health, but he had enough to do what needed to be done and that was what mattered. They slipped through shadows, narrowly avoiding the guard on the platform who was thankfully distracted by the commotion below that the tipped cart had caused. Obi-Wan clenched his jaw, hoping that he had not inevitably caused more beatings for the slaves near the cranes. They hurried through the small entryway on that level and climbed several stairs upward, the smell of the boilers and their own fear following them. In a dark high-ceilinged corridor, they stopped, Obi-Wan turning to face Mem’vokla. In the faint light drifting from the mines he saw the Twi’lek’s brow crease in thought.

“It’s down another level, I think, and to the west. The walls of the metal corridor looked newer than this one.”

Obi-Wan nodded but felt a burst of worry. The corridors were similar enough that it would be confusing to remember a direct path to the Sh’kil headquarters. He was uncertain how long ago Mem’vokla had been there, if things were even in the same area anymore. Cage crossed her arms and Obi-Wan realized that it was much colder here. Strange, that he hadn’t been the first to notice.

“Are we going back to the mine?” Cage asked quietly, but her voice displayed what the darkness concealed of her face. Hunger, immense hunger now that freedom was near.

“No,” Obi-Wan answered, he turned, walking carefully down the dark corridor.

It was no different than the one he had entered when he first came to the mine days ago. It all seemed so long ago now. He halted suddenly, listening hard.

“Someone’s coming,” he whispered and pulled them back against the wall.

A guard was approaching, he recognized the quick authoritative step. A Sh’kilian. The guard came around the corner, steps slowing. For one terrible moment Obi-Wan thought he had seen them, but instead the guard waited and Obi-Wan heard more footsteps, three people at least. They were all guards, all Sh’kil. He felt Cage tense near him but Obi-Wan held still, watching as the group paused in front of them.

“The Trevsins should think before they make an arrangement,” one guard snapped as the end to a conversation that Obi-Wan did not understand, the others shrugged, one shaking his head, but none seemed bothered enough to reply.

They all had close cropped hair and pale skin, only their faces were visible, the rest were covered in thick durable clothing. They were thin, but moved with the strength Obi-Wan had seen of the guards in the mines. They were intelligent and quick on their feet. The guards seemed to be waiting for something, one of them pulling a thin rectangular shape from his belt.

“Hurry up and put the —” the other guard broke off, head jerking up, eyes narrowed.

They had been seen. Obi-Wan wasted no time. He pushed off from the wall, launching directly for one of the guards, hoping the element of surprise was enough to throw the group off balance. He felt more than saw Cage follow and he wanted to call out, to tell her to stay out of it, but it was too late. He knocked a guard to the ground with a blow to the face and solar plexus. Sharp nails scraped his throat as another guard grabbed him from behind. Obi-Wan slammed his elbow into the taller man’s ribs, hearing them crack. The guards scattered, lashing out with whatever weapon they could reach the fastest. One guard swung at Obi-Wan with his shock stick, and automatically Obi-Wan flipped backward, using the time to free his lightsaber from its holster.

Mem’vokla and Cage were now in the fight, attacking viciously even as the three standing guards retaliated with whips and shocksticks. Obi-Wan ducked a punch, backing up and igniting his lightsaber. It lit the hall with an eerie bluish glow. Numbness settled over him, filling him with nothing but the need to destroy the threat he was facing. Everything sharpened, becoming clearer in his mind and he fell into that blankness that he had known for so long.

Distantly, Obi-Wan heard a sharp cry from Mem’vokla and he leapt forward, slashing outward with his lightsaber, hitting a guard’s arm, unbalancing him and kicking him the rest of the way down. Blasterfire burst near him and Obi-Wan deflected it without thinking, slicing through the barrel of the guard’s blaster, saber stabbing downward to take the man out at the knees before silencing him.

Cage went after the final guard, dodging his whip and pulling Mem’vokla up and back against the wall. The guard grabbed for his blaster, only to drop it as Obi-Wan stepped forward, his lightsaber humming in the dark corridor. With a glare the guard backed up, dropping to his knees, eyes flickering over Obi-Wan’s face. The other guards lay spilled around them. Cage stepped out of the shadow, walking over and picking up the guard’s blaster, edging toward Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan stood over the kneeling man, lightsaber held warningly at his throat.

“You’ll pay for this, slave!” the Sh’kilian guard hissed, his mouth twisted with rage.

Obi-Wan ignored him, he was still in that mindless place of numbness, focused on eradicating danger. He reached for the Force, his body shaking, head hurting, his face blank, closed off.

“You will tell me where the Sh’kil headquarters are,” Obi-Wan demanded, pushing a Force command into his words.

The guard hesitated.

“I will tell you where the Sh’kil headquarters are,” he whispered hoarsely.

Obi-Wan sensed the others’ surprise and confusion. Cage at his side now, blaster held tightly in her grip. Obi-Wan waited, pushing hard with the Force, the guard’s face twitched, sudden resistance rising and Obi-Wan paused only for a second. He had forgotten how difficult mindtricks were on the Sh’kil. He drew deeper on the Force, pulling at it, feeling the bond there now, shields starting to give. It took everything he had to keep the bond blocked and secure as Obi-Wan threw his mind forward, against the defenseless mind of the guard. Images and information rose, overlaid with emotions and thoughts, some too difficult to handle. He would deal with that later. For now, the information settled into pieces that his brain reassembled, a map showing where he needed to go. The disconcerting, almost painful sensation of searching another mind increased rapidly and he felt Qui-Gon stronger than he had in their shared dream, almost as if the bond was opening, a invisible warning pulling him out of the guard’s mind. He blinked rapidly, stepping back. Cold air washed over him, the familiar smell of the mine. The guard was still staring blankly and Obi-Wan looked at him, nauseous at the things he had seen.

“Are you done with him?” Cage asked, turning slightly to him.

Obi-Wan nodded, still overwhelmed.

“Good,” she said.

She raised her arm, shooting the guard in the face. She lowered the blaster, meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze calmly.

“That’s one less bastard that could kill us after all of this.”

Obi-Wan looked away, the wet dripping of blood impossibly loud in the corridor. He felt a trickle run down his temple and he brushed it away, unsure when he had been hit. A small card caught his eye on the floor, near one of the guards’ bodies, Obi-Wan crouched down, picking it up. It was the thin metal shape he had seen the one guard pull out. It had 7 unmarked buttons on it. Obi-Wan pressed the first. A blue hologram light glowed over the clear button,

“Weapons storage. Enter access code,” a flat voice informed him.

He paused, closing his eyes.

“Are you going to tell us who you are now?” Cage asked from behind him.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes, the code swimming to mind through the guard’s thoughts that he had seen. He spoke the seven-digit code and the hololight vanished. Across from where they were, a part of the wall slid back, revealing a large storage room. Obi-Wan straightened. In the stunned silence of the corridor, Mem’vokla swore softly. The storage room was filled with weapons, the majority were blasters, but there were whips, shocksticks, grenades…Cage stepped forward and looked through the open door.

“How did you know that code?” Mem’vokla questioned, her right eye almost swollen shut from a brutal blow.

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“I took it,” he said shortly and she thankfully did not ask him anymore.

They were wasting time, he looked down at the card. The guard’s memories made it clear that it would allow access to not only weapons storage, but food supplies from the harvest-gears and access to different levels of the mines, including Sh’kil headquarters. He stepped back toward the guards, rolling over a body to pull another metal card from the guard’s belt. He handed it to Mem’vokla.

“I know how to get to Sh’kil headquarters now. I need to know that you’ll be alright.”

He glanced over at Cage whose freckled brow furrowed before she spoke.

“We agreed to stick to the plan.”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Can you handle the other guards?” he asked and Cage made a derisive noise.

“They won’t be a problem. This place is a fortress. Once they’re gone, we’ll barricade everything.”

Obi-Wan watched her. He knew how hard it was for her to not take her chances and run now. But the agreement they had made remained. She would defend the other slaves until more help came, whether it took him weeks or months to do so. She could hold off the Sh’kil for a long time, once she gained power in the mine. Mem’vokla moved toward Cage’s side and the two women exchanged a look layered with trust and determination. They would remain at each other’s side, whatever happened. Obi-Wan stepped around a guard, turning to leave.

“Jedi,” Cage called softly, he looked back and she gave him a quick hard smile, “Good fighting,” she said, and her accent thickened, the words taking on a sort of purpose, like a benediction or a farewell.

Obi-Wan inclined his head, feeling blood trickle down his cheek.

“Good fighting,” he responded, then turned away.

* * *

He walked for a long time, turning down corridors and evading guards, moving silently through shadows. Obi-Wan wiped away the blood from his face with the edge of his sleeve. He was tired. So tired. He could feel himself starting to unravel, his shields trembling and he wanted to give in so badly, to reach for Qui-Gon and sink into the comfort he desperately needed. _Soon,_ he told himself, he had to hold on for just a little longer. Only when him and Virmu were safely on board the _Zar Ka_ and away from the Outer Rim would he allow himself to sleep, to accept what he had lived through a second time.

The rapid sound of shooting filled his ears and Obi-Wan increased his pace. Cage and Mem’vokla must have entered the mine and began their attack against the guards. He refused to think of the alternative outcome a large amount of blasterfire would mean. They would succeed, they had to. He turned sharply down some stairs, drawing quickly into the shadows as he heard guards run by on the floor below. He cautiously moved the rest of the way down the stairs. The corridor was empty now, pounding feet still resounding in the distance.

For a moment Obi-Wan was torn. He could go after the guards and catch them before they went after Cage and Mem’vokla, but he would lose his chance to confront Skausk and to find Virmu. He hesitated, but ultimately continued down the long narrow corridor. Cage had said she would stick to the plan, Obi-Wan would as well.

The corridor walls were a dark metal, blue lights set at the edges of the end of the hallway reflected shapes against the walls. The rusted decay he had seen in other corridors was not present here and Obi-Wan knew without having to consult the map inside his mind that this was Sh’kil headquarters.

The corridor seemed to dead-end, the cold wall as immovable as the other walls. As he drew closer, Obi-Wan saw a long seam in the metal, showing where the wall would divide and pull back. A large metal orb floated at the end of the corridor. Obi-Wan approached slowly, lightsaber hilt gripped in his bruised hand.

“Sh’kil headquarters. Enter access code,” a robotic voice issued from the spinning orb and Obi-Wan recognized it as some sort of antique scanner.

There was a slot on one of the curved sides and Obi-Wan slid the guard’s access card in, the machined whirred, the orb spinning before the card was pushed back out, Obi-Wan stepping back as the enormous wall in front of him began to move apart.

He stood, feeling almost nothing as a large empty room was exposed. Only a few pieces of furniture were visible in the open space. The floor was black with a strange geometric print inlayed on it. Obi-Wan’s eyes scanned the area, he stepped forward, looking down at the floor. As he approached the center of the room it became more apparent that the geometric pattern was the same design tattooed on his right arm. The mark of the Sh’kil. He glanced up, examining the curved steps that led up to another level, a row of steel doors. One of them was Skausk’s, he was sure of it. The guard’s memories were useless now, it was instinct that told Obi-Wan which door to choose. He paused a moment longer before climbing the stairs, bare feet moving silently, salt scattering over the gleaming black floor. The Force hummed through him, but he could not compartmentalize how he felt as he paused in front of the second door. He lay his palm flat against it, summoning the Force, disengaging locks and alarms. The door slid aside.

A thin figure in front of a large window turned, the bright light from outside almost blinding after so much darkness in the mine. Obi-Wan stepped into the room. Several feet separated them. Skausk tilted his head, his expression a contradictory mix of contempt and interest. Dark eyes trailed over Obi-Wan, the pupils contracting smaller in the bright light from the window. Obi-Wan felt that gaze linger on his right shoulder, the dead Bith’s shirt had slipped down far enough to reveal part of his tattoo, visible even through the salt dust. Obi-Wan took another step forward, his throat stinging sharply with thirst. It was warm in the room. He had not felt warmth like this since the Zar Ka.

“You’re the slave who has my mine in chaos right now,” Skausk stated more than guessed.

The man crossed over to an ornate steel desk, his dark robes blending in with the walls around him. The lined face looked at Obi-Wan with complete disregard. Obi-Wan tilted his head in a nod, watchful as Skausk placed his left hand on the desk. The other hand moved suddenly and Obi-Wan ducked instinctively as Skausk yanked a sleek blaster rifle out from under the desk and fired at him. With a sharp motion of the Force, Obi-Wan wrenched the man’s blaster aside, the weapon clattering against the floor in a dark corner. They faced one another again, Obi-Wan approaching the desk in measured steps, Skausk’s expression unreadable.

“Tell me where the Trevsins brought the Jedi they captured,” Obi-Wan ordered softly.

Skausk’s pale face twisted in a sneer, he lunged. Obi-Wan had grabbed the man’s blaster but he had not seen the heavy metal bar next to the desk, within Skausk’s reach. The Sh’kilian lashed out, the bar slamming into Obi-Wan’s shoulder, sending him crashing to the floor. He rolled automatically back on to his feet, body throbbing as he evaded the next blow and reached for the Force, summoning his lightsaber back into his right hand. His left arm was numb, something was damaged in his shoulder but he ignored it, focused only on cornering Skausk and ending this.

The man swung out with the metal bar again, his movements viciously precise, Obi-Wan allowed the edge of it to hit against his side, turning with the force of the blow to gain ground, driving Skausk backward. His lightsaber spun in his hands, slicing through the metal bar and outward, Skausk stumbled, face twisted, teeth bared. Obi-Wan pushed forward, pressing him back into the corner. Skausk struck out with a fist and Obi-Wan blocked it easily with his injured arm, his lightsaber whirling downward, the edge slicing deep into Skausk’s leg. The man staggered back and fell to the floor with a strangled sound. Half-kneeling, half lying he looked up at Obi-Wan who paused, watching him intently.

Skausk was proud, he would not beg, but Obi-Wan heard the subtle plea there, a call for mercy. It would have been the Jedi way, to capture Skausk now that he was disarmed, to keep him alive despite his crimes because he was a living, breathing creature that deserved at the very least, pity. It would have been the Jedi way, but Obi-Wan had never been able to blindly forgive. He stepped closer, and knew that Skausk understood that there would be no way out. The Sh’kilian had chosen his path. How many millions had Skausk seen imprisoned on Sh’tar’va? How many thousands had he personally sold, tortured, or raped? Hundreds of families torn apart, children trafficked, parents slaughtered…there was no punishment in the universe terrible enough to absolve everything that the man had done for profit and sick enjoyment.

The blocked bond ached with this knowledge, this burden of all the nameless slaves now gone, the dead Bith he had seen the first day, Mem’vokla’s mother, the Treelin, himself as a child… He faced Skausk fully now. Whatever his expression was, it was enough to cause even the smallest bit of hope in Skausk to die. Obi-Wan looked at the man, his mouth dry, burning with the familiar rawness of salt. His lightsaber hilt was clenched in his hand, indenting into his palm. Light from outside shone on their still forms.

Afterward, Obi-Wan would remember how quiet it had all been. Only the hum of his lightsaber, the offset pattern of their breathing and the words right before. Skausk tilting his head back, arrogance lifting only briefly to be replaced with confusion, he seemed to look at Obi-Wan for the first time and Obi-Wan looked back. Skausk almost grimaced, his voice a rasp as his eyes flickered to the blue-purple blade in Obi-Wans hand.

“What are you?” he hissed in stunned disbelief.

Obi-Wan studied him for a moment, feeling neither hate, nor compassion. They were beyond those emotions, in a realm of nothingness that was not the frantic ferocity Obi-Wan knew when trapped, but a powerful emptiness, each thought forming carefully, his senses heightened.

“Once,” he said quietly, “I was a slave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, first off, I’m going to let you know that the next chapter will pick up pretty much where this one left off and it is Obi-Wan’s pov again. 
> 
> I know that this chapter is really dark and I totally understand if you’re questioning when the angst is going to end. but I promise I will have a happy ending, and there are really only a few more chapters with this level of angst. Also, I probably stated this earlier, but just to clarify, I’m NOT going to kill off Obi-Wan or Qui-Gon, so no worries of Major Character Death. 
> 
> I almost didn’t have Obi-Wan use the Force to get inside the one guard’s mind, but that was something that he had to do as a kid, and then he also does that when looking for information in chapter 5. Granted, it’s not something he wants to do, or would ever consider doing if it was not necessary. I guess he’s a Gray Jedi in that way. 
> 
> How does everyone feel about Cage or Mem’vokla? I know it was a little late to introduce new characters but I just couldn’t help doing it in ch. 17 and having them be a big part of this chapter. 
> 
> The spiked wheel crusher thing is legit. I had to look everywhere to find out how rock salt is actually processed.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you so much for being patient this school semester and letting me get away with three week updates ;) I’m hoping that I can get back to doing an update every two weeks now. I’ve mentioned this before, but just a reminder, this fic is 25 chapters, so there are only five left after this one. Wow! Where does the time go? Also, today is Star Wars Day, so happy Star Wars Day!!!! Go out and party like Jabba’s palace, ok, on second thought don’t do that. Jabba’s Palace isn’t really all that fun, what with the Rancors and bounty hunters and all that. 
> 
> If I titled my chapters, this chapter would be called ‘Obi-Wan is a total bamf’. This chapter is Obi-Wan’s pov and picks up pretty much where the last one left off. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think! :)

Obi-Wan looked down at Skausk, the Sh’kilian’s body twisted to the side, devoid of life. Self-loathing had not come yet, he knew only that he was short on time. He had to find Virmu. Obi-Wan exhaled, his breath catching roughly at the shocks of pain spreading throughout his body, strongest in the areas that the metal bar had struck. He rotated his shoulder carefully. It was bruised badly but the numbness had begun to fade. Remarkably, nothing was broken. He flexed his left hand, noting that his grip was still affected and he couldn’t move his arm without pain, but he could ignore it for now.

Obi-Wan lifted his head, glimpsing his face in the reflective sheen of the metal wall, unshaven, thin, and haunted. Blood and salt clung to his pale skin and auburn hair. Any color in his eyes had drained away; the large irises were a cold gray color, blank as the stare of a corpse. He glanced away, crossing the room to the corner where Skausk’s blaster had been thrown. It gleamed in the dark, fitting well in his hands as he lifted it. It was a high-quality Stenlith product by the feel of it. The rifle had a retractable strap for slinging it across the back and a long detachable barrel for sniping.

The floor vibrated from a distant blast, another explosion sounding even closer. Obi-Wan moved back to Skausk, stripping a power carbine off the dead man’s belt. He stood, quickly swiveling the blaster’s barrel, loading in the new carbine and snapping it closed, locking it into motion. The power carbine would allow him at least a hundred shots before it needed to be recharged. His lightsaber was more suited to him but the projectile rifle would be useful for long range.

Obi-Wan knew his energy was running low. Days without food and little sleep had pushed him to a point where he was functioning on an automatic level. The bond was barely remaining blocked anymore and he could spare only gratitude that Qui-Gon refrained from entering his mind now. There was too much chaos in the white spaces of numbness. He did not know what Qui-Gon would see but if it matched how he felt when he saw himself, he hoped that he could remain invisible a little longer.

He swiftly stepped around Skausk’s body, switching on the computer terminal on the man’s desk. A holoscreen rose and Obi-Wan blinked, surprised at the lack of security the computer had. Obi-Wan pushed through the contents in desk drawers before finding a blank recording chip, he slid it into the terminal and copied everything Skausk had on file. Slave records, trade information, locations of other camps, the information sped by too quick to follow. The floor shook from another distant blast and Obi-Wan braced himself, waiting.

The recording chip slid out with a low beep, Obi-Wan pulled it out and flipped his lightsaber hilt over. The round base at the bottom of his lightsaber hilt functioned as a reserve cap that had not been necessary to build it into his saber. Virmu had lectured him against adding things that were ‘uselessly ornamental’ when she finally allowed him to construct a lightsaber when he was fifteen. She had not been pleased with his end result, in particular with the reserve cap. Her disapproval was not unexpected, particularly as Obi-Wan had not bothered to inform her that he had designed the hilt with more in mind than appearance. He slid his thumb to the ridges slightly above the rounded end of the hilt. Bruised fingertips pressed and twisted to the left, he unscrewed the reserve cap, turning it over to reveal a small open compartment. He slid the recording chip in and it locked into place. Receptors he had built into the internal workings of the hilt began to download the chip’s data. They glowed blue a second later and he pulled the recording chip out, reattaching the reserve cap to his lightsaber hilt.

Obi-Wan braced himself as another blast shook the building. It rattled glass against metal and his eyes focused on a thin glass sitting on an endtable a few meters away. He strode toward it, grabbing the glass and hitting it against the edge of the table so that the bottom of it shattered. He glanced again at the computer, mentally calculating how long he had been in Skausk’s office. He was losing time. Obi-Wan returned to the desk, searching through the drawers until he found machine sealant. It functioned as a glaze and was used often for minor repairs to protect sensitive hardware from water damage. He yanked the can out, spraying the recording chip.

Without hesitation Obi-Wan pulled his shirt up and set the jagged edge of the broken glass against his hipbone, slicing across the skin. He bit down on his lower lip, channeling the pain, shoving aside the exhaustion he felt. With steady fingers he pushed the recording chip into the wound easily, Obi-Wan held it there while he tore the bith’s shirt off, pressing the fabric to the wound, the smell of his own blood rich suddenly in the room. It had not been a deep cut and he could already feel the blood clotting.

Obi-Wan pulled the shirt away and quickly sprayed the slash across his left hip. The sealant worked as a glue to keep the wound closed, but he tore the bith shirt into strips and bandaged the area just in case. It wasn’t an appealing situation, but any information that was on the chip had to remain secure. If his lightsaber was separated from him, or destroyed, he would still have the recording chip. If he was killed, there was a chance his lightsaber would remain intact enough for Qui-Gon to gather the information.

He swiftly returned to the computer, accessing the main files again. He did not need to bother to search or hack any further, Skausk had not concealed any of the information on Virmu and Obi-Wan found her location almost instantly as he opened the most recent record. _Regarding the Jedi shipment, it seems unlikely that the mine would be feasible security at the time; the less relocation, the better_. If Skausk had been concerned with moving her, she had to still be on the Trevsin ship.

Another blast came, much louder this time but the shaking was minimal. Obi-Wan’s head jerked up as he registered that the blast was from outside. He approached the window cautiously, his heart racing. The white landscape was blinding, the sky a faded gray. Obi-Wan stood still. The mine was large and primarily rectangular. From his angle he could see the front entrance but also the ships concealed on the other side of the building. Trevsin ships. Thick smoke spilled out of the entrance of the mine. Another blast came, this time closer and Obi-Wan looked sharply to the other side. Obi-Wan watched with narrowed eyes as dozens of Trevins and a few Sh’kil surged from the small landing pad in the distance. One stopped, threw something. Obi-Wan pulled back, another blast shaking the glass in the window frame. Grenades of some kind. They were trying to get into the mine another way. Obi-Wan bit his lip. If they blasted a hole in the side of the mine they could come in from a different angle and corner Cage and the other slaves that were fighting off the guards in the salt pit.

Obi-Wan hefted the blaster’s weight, pulling it up against his damaged shoulder and twisting back to the window. Flames licked through snow and ice from where the grenade had hit the side of the mine’s metal outer wall and rolled. Obi-Wan searched through the rising smoke, sighting down the barrel, zeroing in on the glint of silver skin. His hand hesitated only for a moment before pulling the trigger. One of the Trevsins fell backward.

Another explosion came, this time inside and the Trevsins and Sh’kil pushed forward. Through the smoke Obi-Wan glimpsed the Duro ship the Trevsins had stolen. Obi-Wan lowered the blaster momentarily. With the slavers distracted he could board their ship easily. It was the only way to get to Virmu, to return to Qui-Gon, but it meant leaving the slaves in the mine at their most vulnerable. He pulled the rifle back up, rapidly shooting into the distant crowd of Trevsins and Sh’kil. They scattered and he ducked away from the window as blaster fire was returned. The window shattered, frigid air slamming into him as he flung an arm up instinctively to cover his face from broken glass.

Obi-Wan’s gaze was pulled back to Skausk’s body on the dark tiled floor. He stared at it, his limbs ached, throbbing with pain. He did not know how much longer he could continue this way. Blaster fire came again, pelting through the window, the whole floor shaking as another grenade exploded. Blood and salt rose in his mouth, Obi-Wan swallowed it back. His grip on the blaster rifle was steady as he looked at the sprawled figure of Skausk, the blocked bond humming beneath fragile shields.

Obi-Wan dropped to his knees, crawling to avoid being seen through the broken window. He stood when he reached the open door, slipping through it. He left the shadowed room where Skausk lie forgotten, moving quickly toward the mine where the slaves were desperately trying to hold any territory they had won.

* * *

Corridors were empty as Obi-Wan ran, all exhaustion pushed aside. The sound of blaster fire and explosions grew closer and more rapid; he pulled to the left, taking a narrow set of stairs, relying on memory and what he knew from the Sh’kil guard’s mind to guide him back to the salt pit of the mine. He took a different route, knowing that the way he had come would most likely be blocked off. The explosions grew louder and he could hear yells of pain and rage and Obi-Wan pushed forward in the cold darkness, taking another staircase and another and suddenly the light from the salt mine was ahead of him. The unbearable stench he could never quite escape poured through with thick smoke and he plunged into the nightmare, eyes stinging.

He was on a small balcony, instinctively ducking as blasterfire hit the wall nearest him. He slung the blaster rifle over his shoulder and risked a glance below. Meters beneath him the mine was in chaos. Most of the guards that could had retreated to the balconies, the ones on the floor were slaughtered ruthlessly by slaves now frantic with the newfound hope of freedom. One of the boilers had been hit with a grenade and it spewed smoke and flame, ash spiraling through the air. Obi-Wan dodged another round of fire, glimpsing blue skin below. Mem’vokla, and near her, was Cage, barely visible behind an overturned cart they were using to shield against return fire. Without hesitation Obi-Wan swung himself over the edge of the balcony and leapt.

He fell through smoke, screams loud in his ears from the fighting below. He pulled the blaster rifle around and landed hard, rolling to break his fall, body flaring bright with pain as he came up with the rifle. A Fra-foi slave near him shrieked as they were grazed by distant blaster fire and Obi-Wan grabbed the Fra-Foish by the arm, injured shoulder protesting as he hauled the slave up and behind a crane already partly blown apart. For a moment the Fra-Foish’s red eyes met his own, pained and resolute, but Obi-Wan was already weaving his way through the destruction. He pulled the blaster rifle up, firing at the balcony but his aim was poor, the air thick with smoke and salt dust. He crouched to avoid another round of blaster fire, hauling a slave near him out of the way and behind another cart before pressing forward. He saw Mem’vokla pull back, away from the overturned cart and he threw himself down behind it, near Cage who was firing heavily with a large blaster. She ducked behind the cart a moment later, her teeth gritted against an explosion nearby.

“What are you doing here?!” Cage demanded over the noise.

Obi-Wan snapped the long part of the projectile rifle barrel loose, tossing it aside to make it easier to handle for short range. He pulled the blaster up, shooting rapidly at the cluster of guards up on the balconies. He lowered his head, avoiding return fire and pulled closer to where she was behind the cart.

“The Trevsin slavers are trying to break into the mine, they’re coming from another direction. They’ll pin the group in here,” he yelled to her.

Her eyes widened momentarily before she shook her head. Mem’vokla evaded a surge of blaster fire, dropping down near them and calibrating the timer device on the grenade she held with surprising calmness.

“We’ll hold them off,” she announced firmly, aiming before tossing the grenade towards Sh’kil guards who were pulling back into a corridor.

The walls of the mine shook, salt raining down as the blast went off, disjointed screams hitting their ears. Obi-Wan shook his head.

“You can’t—”

“Look around you,” Cage snapped, her accent thickening from tension, she rose to shoot before pulling back down again. “None of these slaves will stop fighting, not until they’re dead.”

Obi-Wan stared at her behind the metal weave of the cart, the bond straining inside him.

“I can’t just leave,” he said quietly, the words almost lost in the turmoil around them.

She looked at him for a moment, a long glance of understanding and determination.

“You do what you have to. We all do.”

He glanced over at Mem’vokla who gave him a small sad smile.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” she called.

Obi-Wan felt the ground shake beneath him, the thick smell of salt and the boilers, the swirl of smoke and salt dust and fire in the air. There was no way he could get to Virmu without abandoning them, they understood that and were not afraid. Cage ducked another round of fire, her dark eyes meeting his stare briefly one final time.

“Go,” she ordered softly, and Obi-Wan moved while he still could.

He pressed the rifle to Mem’vokla, evading fire as he rose and wove through makeshift cover, sliding behind another large crane and climbing it to jump up toward a balcony. Blaster fire scattered near him, but the world was a swirl of noise and emotion and death and he let it go, pulling himself up over a balcony and into a corridor, igniting his lightsaber and deflecting shots towards guards as he fought his way through the corridor and up smoke-filled stairs. And then it was empty darkness, his lightsaber lighting the way as he ran through the hallway, veering into other corridors, concentrating only on the mental map he had of the mine. There was another large blast and Obi-Wan staggered, gripping the side of the wall. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek as his legs threatened to give out, his mind struggling not to fall into a Force healing trance that he did not know how to wake from. He pushed himself away from the wall, determined to keep going. After he found Virmu, he could give in, but not now.

He could not get lower than the second floor where smoke was pouring in from the distant salt mine. Obi-Wan paused, facing the outer wall, igniting his lightsaber and cutting into it. The wall of the building was thick and he sliced through metal sheeting and bracing and then a second wall before he saw daylight and felt the inevitable cold of Sh’Tar’va. He climbed through the jagged hole, dropping down. He was near the landing pad, as he had hoped. No one was nearby and the fighting behind him grew distant as Obi-Wan plunged into the deep snow, seeing the sleek curves of the Duro ship in the distance; it was battered from the fight with the _Zar Ka_ , but still intact.

Smoke drifted over him from the grenades the Trevsins had thrown, the snow still burning in places where energy lines must have been hit. Blood filled his mouth again and Obi-Wan swallowed, forcing himself to keep moving. He could no longer verify how bad his injuries were, he did not want to. He needed to make it to Virmu, and then to Qui-Gon. Cage, Mem’vokla, and the other slaves had given him the time he needed to reach the unguarded ship, he would not waste that.

Ice gave way to cold duracrete and Obi-Wan stumbled, regaining his footing as he approached the Duro ship. It was much larger than the _Zar Ka_ was, the dark metal hull impressive despite the damage from the space battle. He circled the base. There was an emergency exit near the back and Obi-Wan cut into the door, climbing through. If the mechanics of the ship were similar to most Duro ships, then there would be two doors he still had to get through, to keep the exit area pressurized in case the ship was breached. Another door stood in front of him and Obi-Wan pressed his palm flat against the cold metal, pushing with the Force, releasing locks. The door slid open with a hiss and he entered a small room. It was stocked with emergency supplies but nothing of use to him and Obi-Wan moved forward, using the Force to open the last door. He stepped through, eyes scanning the area. He was in the ship now. A long narrow hallway stretched out in front of him, branching off into other corridors.

The ship walls were a dark gray lit with blue light, his reflection a distorted shadow as he walked. The sound of his footprints echoed slightly and Obi-Wan softened them, though he was sure he was the only one on board. His brow furrowed as he considered options. Searching the entire ship for Virmu was time-consuming. Once the Trevsins discovered Skausk’s body, they could return to the ship, especially if they suspected that there was more behind the attack than a slave rebellion. He considered possibilities. They would have to be holding her somewhere secure…

He turned a corner sharply, entering another corridor. The ship setup was different than the _Zar Ka_ and Obi-Wan went from door to door, leading into other rooms. A half ate meal was on the pantry table, boot marks scuffed on the hallway floors. There was so much silence. He hesitated. Virmu could still be in a trance, which would mean that her shields were down. He had never had a bond with her and he had never voluntarily reached for her through the Force. He was unsure if he would even be able to sense her now.

He stood still, closing his emotions off to the tension and pain whirling through his body. He reached out with the Force. The bond rose instantly, hungrily trying to reconnect and Obi-Wan weakly pushed it away. He felt Qui-Gon’s mind retreat, a glimpse of confusion and worry, before Obi-Wan was able to extend his reach further, searching…

Something flickered there, at the corner of his mind, another Force presence and Obi-Wan pushed forward, hands unconsciously coming up to support himself against a wall as he reached with a strength he no longer had control over, there was some response, but it was muted, buried…

His eyes snapped open and he moved, turning another corridor, entering a different room until he stood in front of a locked door. The door slid back with a touch of the Force and Obi-Wan stepped forward. A huge round light hung in the center of the hexagonal room. Beneath the light there was a platform, or a sort of table built into the floor. Thick cables ran over it and around it, connected to various machines. On top of the platform was a thin figure clad in a heavy robe.

Obi-Wan stepped closer, approaching the massive platform. Salt dust stained the dark reflective metal of the platform surface as he rested a hand there, looking down at Virmu’s still form. Her hands and legs were strapped down, but he knew it was only for precaution. Her eyes were closed, her lined face serene. She was still in the healing trance. She had been asleep the whole time.

Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered over her but he did not touch her, unsure what it would do to the trance. Her pink-gray skin was pale, the wrinkles there stark from the bright light above. The high-collar white robe she wore was stamped with the symbol of the Duro medcenter, her clawed feet bare. She looked as she had before, better even, the extended healing trance restoring any damage she had received in the attack at the Builder’s Hotel. Obi-Wan felt suddenly adrift, unsure if he could even wake her. The trance would be deep by now and with the weakness of his shields and his physical fatigue, he was not sure if he would be drawn into it once he reached for her mind. He had no familiarity with the concept of trances. His Jedi healing abilities had always been limited.

Obi-Wan inhaled slowly, tasting blood in his mouth again. He had to wake Virmu, he could not carry her with his damaged shoulder and he needed her alert in case the Trevsins returned to their ship. Long narrow windows ran along the side of the room and he glanced out through them, hands clenching automatically as he saw the smoke rising from the mine in the distance. He stepped closer to the table, reaching out and lightly setting his scarred hand on top of Virmu’s veined arm. He drew on the Force, doing what he could to strengthen his shields against the bond, needing to concentrate solely on waking Virmu.

He let his eyes fall close, stretching out for that buried flicker of that other presence. Qui-Gon’s warmth was so near to his own mind and it took everything Obi-Wan had to keep it back. Through the nothingness he searched until finally he felt the barest hint of something. He approached it, the Force empowered by his determination and she was there. He had rarely felt her through the Force. She was hard edges and cold, unlike the soft warmth of Qui-Gon who was still there, loosely concealed. Obi-Wan sensed brief awareness, acknowledgement of who he was and he reached further, pouring strength and urgency into the Force. Slowly, Obi-Wan felt her mind reach back. For a moment their minds connected, hers almost overlapping his at the depth of the Force touch, and it hung on the edge of too much before her mind jerked away. Fear, unable to be hidden, rising, Fear that his mind would endanger hers, that his perceived instability would destroy everything. Obi-Wan retreated, feeling himself pushed aside, unwanted as she shoved him mentally away.

With a gasp he staggered backward from the platform, his mind stinging at the abrupt disconnection. Qui-Gon was still there, the shields on the bond faltering and Obi-Wan sensed the man’s worry and anger, thinking Obi-Wan had been mentally attacked and Obi-Wan inhaled roughly, weakly shielding what he could of the bond, not having time to explain.

Virmu was waking, her eyelids fluttering, her clawed fingers twitching slightly against the restraints on her arms. Obi-Wan stepped forward, unlatching them, hands fumbling at the numbing sensation still lingering in his mind. A disturbance came, distant so that he wasn’t sure if he had heard it or sensed it. He looked up, toward the narrow windows, pulse racing as he saw the gleaming silvery skin and dark clothes of the Trevsins in the distance. They were returning to the ship. He looked back at Virmu and stilled as golden eyes regarded him.

Virmu shifted, turning her head faintly and Obi-Wan undid the restraints around her ankles. She blinked slowly at him, eyes focusing on other parts of the room, a second eyelid shielding her yellow irises momentarily as her gaze flickered to the bright light above her. She was weaker than he had ever seen, but her mouth was set in that particular stern line he remembered. Obi-Wan helped her sit up, careful despite their limited time.

“Are you injured?” he asked.

She shook her head, her eyes focusing more fully on him. Obi-Wan turned, glancing toward the windows, calculating how much time he had before the Trevsins boarded the ship.

“I need to get us into orbit.”

Virmu frowned slightly.

“Where is Master Jinn?” she asked, voice frail and hoarse from lack of use.

Obi-Wan paused, unfamiliar at first with who she was addressing before he looked away.

“He’s waiting for us.”

She blinked again, flexing limbs slightly, weakly testing her reflexes.

“They came for you?” she asked, not having to allude to who ‘they’ were.

Obi-Wan looked at her.

“No,” he answered and said nothing more, he did not have to, his ragged clothing and bruised appearance was enough to verify where he had been, his denial of being captured his only acknowledgement that he had willingly returned to Sh’Tar’va to find her.

They would be boarded soon, there was no time for conversation. Obi-Wan paused, then handed Virmu his lightsaber. She hesitated only briefly before taking it. She would know what such a gesture meant. A Jedi chose never to be parted from their lightsaber, not unless there was no other option, but he needed her to be able to defend herself and it was another way to keep the downloaded information safe.

Obi-Wan exited the room, she did not ask him of his plan, even when he re-engaged the locks, sealing her in the room. She was too frail to follow him and he needed to buy them as much time as possible. With the door locked, the Trevsins may be fooled into thinking that she was still asleep and not bother to check.

His strides increased as he entered the corridor and heard distant Trevsin voices. They would be inside the ship in under a minute. He knew where the cockpit was from circling the ship earlier. He ran.

In the dark cockpit, Obi-Wan paused, brow furrowed as he approached the center seat. There were two chairs on either side of the pilot’s seat, a copilot chair and a reserve pilot chair. The ship was larger, it would need to be operated by more than one person to fly properly, but there was no time. He swung himself into the center seat, leaning over the console and rapidly typing in flight initiation sequences. The engines roared to life and he heard angry shouts. The Trevsins were on board. He had only seconds now.

Obi-Wan overrode the safety protocol for liftoff and swiveled the controls to face him, turning everything on manual. He pulled the ship up sharply, automatic gravity sensors setting in as the Duro ship rose almost perpendicular from the ground. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. He was risking overheating the engines but there was no other choice. He pushed everything into the ship and it rushed upward.

A distant harvest gear was suddenly close, filling the viewscreen and Obi-Wan spun the ship to avoid being caught in a large cable, swinging the vessel around the massive rotating gear before typing in coordinates, punching more energy to the engines to initiate an atmosphere jump. The ship’s shields were still damaged from the fight with the _Zar Ka_ and Obi-Wan risked a glance at the flashing warning grids. The ship was stable but damaged and even with extensive repairs, the _Zar Ka_ would not be in much better shape.

The door to the cockpit hissed open and Obi-Wan threw himself to the floor as a blaster shot grazed by him, narrowly missing the console. There was a roar of rage and Obi-Wan rolled aside as a large Trevsin lunged toward him. There was no room to maneuver in the small space. His leg was grabbed, wrenching him back and Obi-Wan cried out involuntarily as he was struck hard across the face. His skull slammed into the metal floor, lights bursting across his eyes.

He was faintly aware of a hand closing around his throat, other voices in the dark room. Fingers tightened and he choked, one hand flailing against the smooth ship deck, searching for something, anything to use as a weapon. Then the grip was gone and he collapsed, gasping, vision fading in and out. He could hear the Trevsins yelling frantically in their language, felt the jerk of the ship as they left Sh’Tar’va’s atmosphere. They were…Obi-Wan shook his head weakly, his limbs unable to cooperate, to get up. A booted foot descended on his thigh, pinning him there and he lie still. His lungs burned, fluid filling them and Obi-Wan spat blood weakly on the floor, still tasting salt and ash from the mine. He closed his eyes, ears ringing. He could not get up, he was beaten.

He reached to the blocked bond, slowly tearing apart the shields that he had held onto for so long, feeling Qui-Gon fill his mind, overwhelmingly there and afraid as Obi-Wan’s pain echoed through the link. Warmth flowed over Obi-Wan, the falling sensation of unconsciousness held back as Qui-Gon’s mind reached instinctively for his own and he touched back, falling into the embrace of the bond.

_We’re breaking orbit, the Trevsins —_

He broke off, mentally unable to speak further, his thoughts disjointed, dark with pain and the overwhelming urge to sleep.

Qui-Gon’s reply was grim and filled with fear.

_I see you._

Obi-Wan heard the raised voices of Trevsins again, the booted foot lifting from his leg slightly. Large cyan eyes blinked open, focusing vaguely on the Trevsin above him. Hanging from the man’s belt was Virmu’s lightsaber, indestructible steel welded seamlessly around a large polished fang that made up most of the hilt. His gaze trailed past the silvery-toned Trevsins, seeing the viewscreen that filled one wall and beyond, that in the reaches of space, the slender sleek shape of the _Zar Ka_ , uncloaking and turning to meet them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm, ok, how much trouble am I in for that cliffhanger?
> 
> Virmu is back!!! And the bond is open!!!! I’m so excited to write the next chapter guys, because that’s Qui-Gon’s pov and I’ve been waiting to write that chapter since the beginning.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! here it is, chapter twenty-one! this is Qui-Gon's pov, and i'm thinking the next chapter will be as well. :) 
> 
> oh my sister finally got through some of her commissions and drew fanart for chapter nine! you can click back to chapter nine to see it if you want. you can check her stuff out on deviantart, she's listed under quietoceanlove, or on tumblr under her new jinnobi tumblr, shyqui-gon.

The blackness of space was broken only by the distant pinpricks of stars and the blue-white surface of Sh’Tar’va beneath the two Duromade ships. For a breathless moment neither ship moved, than slowly they begin to close in and circle one another. Qui-Gon sat in the _Zar Ka’s_ dark cockpit, his eyes on the Trevsin ship, his pulse racing.

In all his years as a Jedi, during dangerous missions and terrible battles, Qui-Gon had never known fear like this. He had thought Obi-Wan returning to Sh’Tar’va alone was the worst thing he would have to endure, but now it was this moment, knowing that Obi-Wan was on the other ship, trapped and in pain. Knowing that he could not retaliate against the Trevsins without harming Obi-Wan as well. The fear felt almost like betrayal, so sharp and so strong. _So this is why Jedi resist fear_ , he thought, the realization budding like a flower so many years latent to bloom, only now knowing what he was helpless to stop, what Obi-Wan had known all along.

The fear of loss was consuming, it had the capability to destroy a person were there not something else to cling to. For Qui-Gon that something else was the bond and his fierce endless love for the man he could sense only in dazed waves. The bond stuttered through his mind as Obi-Wan was pulled in and out of dark waters of unconsciousness. Obi-Wan was unable to speak or to reach him fully. His pain reflected through the bond, magnifying Qui-Gon’s fear as he gave what strength he could to keep Obi-Wan awake, even as he disengaged all automatic ship repairs, fingers flying over the console, preparing for the inevitable attack.

Abruptly the stillness was broken, the Trevsin ship swiveling and firing with dual mounted laser cannons. Qui-Gon spun the _Zar Ka’s_ controls, twisting his smaller ship out of the way of the heavy barrage of enemy fire, the green lasers blinding bright as they streaked by, the computer’s flashing lights already warning him of another onslaught.

He could taste the fear, a sharp metallic sting that blended into the warning klaxons of engines already overheating. It was apparent that the slavers’ shields had been repaired while they were on Sh’Tar’va, their firepower fully restored as well. Qui-Gon freed a hand from the _Zar Ka’s_ controls, frantically typing, looking for access to the Trevsins computer. The holoscreen flickered as he dove out of the way of another blast, the ship rocking from how close it passed by. _Access denied_ flashed across the computer’s holoscreen and Qui-Gon grimaced, spinning the small craft out of the way of another barrage of fire. He had hoped that the Trevsins had not been able to block the link between the ships’ computers, as Qui-Gon’s ability to hack into their hardware had been his only advantage. In every other way he was overpowered, the _Zar Ka’s_ repairs were incomplete, the ship had been built for travel, not war.

The small cockpit was filled with flashing purple and red warning lights, alarms sounding and Qui-Gon gritted his teeth as he spared another glance toward the _Zar Ka’s_ computer. Even with his repairing of the internal hardware, there was little he could do. The _Zar Ka’s_ own shields were still damaged beyond repair, the firepower limited. The disparity between their positions was made jarringly clear as he narrowly avoided another hail of fire from the Trevsin ship, diving down and veering to the left, trying to maneuver further away from Sh’Tar’va. The ship jolted and whined at the strain on its already damaged engines and Qui-Gon gripped the controls tighter. He was not a skilled enough pilot to know how best to use the _Zar Ka’s_ limitations to his advantage or even if such a thing was possible, but he knew that his chance of survival would be higher the further away he was from Sh’Tar’va’s orbit.

The bond surged against his mind in powerful bursts, stretching at the Force, distorting under the stain of Obi-Wan’s injuries. The younger man was barely conscious, his spiraling dizziness pressing into Qui-Gon at all sides. The older man shook his head, swallowing hard. He felt the last few days culmination of being pulled apart by the shielded bond, disconnected from his beloved, helpless to do anything. And now the fear rose, unbearably human in his need to hold Obi-Wan, to see the man’s face, if only once more. Laser fire pelted the _Zar Ka_ , only the Force allowing Qui-Gon to evade each shot as he struggled to stay in the moment.

The jagged pain of the bond scraped against his mind and Qui-Gon blinked, nausea rising, large hands trembling as another burst of disorientation swept over him. Obi-Wan did not have the strength left to shield, he was hurt and drawing Qui-Gon unintentionally into the bond. It took everything Qui-Gon had to raise his own shields but they were barely effective, neither of them had the ability to control the bond now. It pushed through them like a wildfire, both their mental shields unraveling, pulling them together so that he could barely see beyond the haze of pain that Obi-Wan was in.

Instinctively, Qui-Gon spun the ship away from the Trevsins, the computer shrieking a warning as the right side of the _Zar Ka_ was grazed by another hail of fire from the Trevsin ship. The ship lurched at the impact, Qui-Gon’s body thrown against the restraints strapping him to the pilot’s chair, strong fingers tightening on the controls, his head almost colliding with the console as the ship jolted again. He narrowed his eyes, pulling the ship around automatically and ducking another stream of fire. His mind remained divided, half of him focused entirely on keeping the ship out of firing range, the other half wrapped up with Obi-Wan, trying not to lose him as he felt Obi-Wan slip in and out of consciousness. The fear beat at him but he pushed it aside, there would be time later to deal with the side effects of having the bond blocked for so long, there had to be time.

Alarms were ringing as the smell of burning metal filled the cockpit. Qui-Gon hit the autoextinguishers switch on the console to combat a fire that had started along the right side of the _Zar Ka’s_ outer hull. The Trevsin ship careened toward him again and Qui-Gon spun the steering controls aside, reaching for weapon controls. He fired at the left side of the Trevsin ship, knowing it would do little damage but needing them to remain distracted as the bond pressed against his mind, his vision almost giving into total darkness as another wave of pain came from Obi-Wan.

Desperately trying to keep focused, Qui-Gon blinked, frantically typing into the computer, pushing the entire ship’s energy toward maintaining shields. Heat and lights were cut off and he was in dark silence, working only by distant starlight and the blazing laserfire of the Trevsins ship. He typed in coordinates shakily, remembering that his earlier scans of the general vicinity around Sh’Tar’va had located a small moon. It was habitable but the Sh’kil had ignored it as far as he knew.

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan’s mind struggle to rise above the thick fog swarming the hungry bond, touching his own mind, beautiful in his determination, despite the younger man’s pain. It was a wordless touch, a reaching across a distance that seemed impossibly wide. Qui-Gon reached back, holding on firmly as he pulled the _Zar Ka_ out of danger of another blast and pushed toward the small orb in the distance.

If he was forced to abandon the ship, he would have no other option but to crash on Sh’Tar’va’s moon. His heart stilled at the thought of leaving Obi-Wan behind in the hands of slavers, but the _Zar Ka’s_ only escape pod was gone and Qui-Gon was very aware of how little time he had before the ship was too damaged to control. Already the computer’s diagnostic system was close to overloading as it tried to compensate what it could with the limited amount of energy it had left.

Another explosion hit the left side of the ship now, Qui-Gon twisting the _Zar Ka_ to avoid most of the impact. _Engine Valve unstable_ flashed across the computer’s holoscreen, a transparent diagram of the ship’s engines appearing, one gleaming red, the others in various tones of orange and green. Qui-Gon swallowed back a curse. With the engine valves unstable there was no possibility of jumping to lightspeed now. He could not outrun the Trevsins, nor attack them. He reached for Obi-Wan through the Force, feeling the sharp pain as static preventing them from speaking, the man’s presence faint, the bond drawing on his adrenaline, growing stronger, almost consuming with how cut off they had both been from it.

Qui-Gon barely avoided another shot, the Trevsin’s green lasers firing in quick bursts. He yanked on the steering controls, pulling up and around, flipping the _Zar Ka_ over the Trevsin ship and firing at the surface of the ship’s hull. Again, he deliberately avoided causing severe damage, hoping to distract the Trevsins enough to lose track of him as Qui-Gon dove under the larger ship and toward the small moon rapidly filling his viewscreen.

He didn’t see the Trevsin ship turn, sensing the rapid salvo of lasers a second too late. The entire ship twisted, threatening to come apart, steel support beams shrieking, sparks from the console filling his vision momentarily, the acrid smell of scorched metal everywhere. Qui-Gon was thrown against his straps again, already reaching for the computer to repair, to escape. Smoke rose from the console, the computer holoscreen frozen and for a second Qui-Gon stilled, feeling the ship tip beneath him. The _Zar Ka_ had taken a direct hit. He pulled hard on the controls, trying to limp the ship out of the way of the next blast but it was impossible to maneuver fast enough. The second impact sent the _Zar Ka_ spiraling aside, above Sh’Tar’va’s moon and Qui-Gon knew there was nothing else he could do.

He tore off the straps keeping him tied to the pilot’s chair, gripping onto the edge of the console to hold himself steady as he yanked open the casing of the console. The hot metal burned his fingertips as he ripped open the hardware of the now useless computer, pulling out the information drive, hoping that the information he had collected on the Sh’kil was still salvageable. Qui-Gon dropped the drive in his cloak pocket, bracing himself against the smoking console as the ship spun again, the floor twisting beneath him, the tilting viewscreen showing the trevsin ship looming against the backdrop of space and the green-gray color of Sh’Tar’va’s moon. _Obi-Wan_ , he thought with a desperate sorrow more powerful than pain.

The _Zar Ka_ was burning, falling and the bond flared inside his mind like a dying sunset, gleaming and reaching with a burst of strength from Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon fell back into the pilot’s seat, trying helplessly to control the failing ship. The majority of the console was no longer working but he was able to seal the cockpit as fire spread to other parts of the ship. He jettisoned all spare parts, hoping to distract the Trevsins and buy more time. The _Zar Ka_ tipped further. Qui-Gon losing any ability to control it as more and more of the ship was compromised. Even if he crashed on planet he would never survive entering the atmosphere, the _Zar Ka’s_ shields were already gone, half the ship in flame. Oxygen was being sucked from the ship, the cockpit unable to seal completely.

The Trevsin ship moved in closer for a final attack and Qui-Gon realized his only way out. He gripped the steering controls, feeling the ship lurch against him, wires to the controls burning even as he managed to turn it to face the Trevsin ship. He sent a silent warning to Obi-Wan, unable to explain as he poured what was left of the ship’s energy into one final push forward.

He dove for the Trevsin ship, the _Zar Ka’s_ controls failing mid-motion so the ship was now in complete freefall, blazing. Fire obscured the viewscreen, it cracked, shattered and Qui-Gon inhaled a last breath of escaping air, clinging to the pilot’s chair, glimpsing the massive shape of the Trevsin ship as it tried to frantically move, guessing only now what he intended. The two ships collided, the pointed bow of the _Zar Ka_ plowing into the Trevsin ship’s side, both ships tilting and lurching as the inertia of the falling _Zar Ka_ forced the Trevsin ship down with it, plunging through the atmosphere of Sh’Tar’va’s moon.

Everything was coming apart in fire and Qui-Gon had only seconds now. He cut into the door of the cockpit with his lightsaber, flames licking at his cloak, the thinness of air compacting against him as Qui-Gon reached out into what was left of the corridor, grabbing a now visible support beam, the metal searing his skin. He summoned the Force, gauging the speed of the ships’ descent and the closeness of the Trevsin ship. The bond flooded through him, Obi-Wan forcing aside his own pain and exhaustion giving Qui-Gon strength he could not afford to spare. Qui-Gon swung away from the support beam, leaping from the burning remains of the _Zar Ka_.

He felt the terrifying rush of falling before his body impacted against the hull of the Trevsin ship and slid along it. Ribs cracked, the wind tearing at his cloak and hair, the surface of the now battered hull scraping his skin, shredding into the bindings on Qui-Gon’s lower arms. Qui-Gon’s large body felt weightless, frail as he frantically tried to grab hold of something. He could sense Obi-Wan’s mind, so close and despite everything he felt relief, to know the other man was still there, to feel Obi-Wan mastering the pain, the bond surging fully to awareness, alive with steely purpose.

The corrugated surface of a large vent saved Qui-Gon as he slid close enough to grab onto it, he clung with white fingertips, muscles in his arms and back straining. His feet swung in the open air. Trees and water rushed toward him, the thankfully breathable atmosphere choked with rising smoke. Wind velocity pushed against Qui-Gon so hard that it was only the Force that gave him the strength to let go of one hand, igniting his lightsaber and hacking into the side of the falling Trevsin ship. His cloak caught on part of the hull, the sleeve ripping as Qui-Gon fell through the jagged hole and into a hallway.

Alarms were screaming, lights flashing and Qui-Gon grabbed onto the wall as the ship twisted, flinging him against what was once the floor. Blood was trickling into his beard from a split lip, his mouth filling with the taste of iron and smoke. He staggered to his feet. A yell caught his attention and he jerked around. Struggling to hold onto the wall, on the other end of the corridor was a Trevsin slaver, teeth barred as he saw Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon shoved away from the twisting wall, lightsaber humming, using the Force to find his equilibrium as the tangled ships fell faster, even as he felt the bond pull hard at him. Something was happening with Obi-Wan, but he could not understand what it was, he could only fight through his own pain to block the Trevsin’s poorly aimed shot, slicing through the barrel of the man’s blaster and then out. The dead body of the slaver collided with the ship’s walls as the Trevsin ship and what was left of the _Zar Ka_ smashed into the ground with a grinding roar.

Qui-Gon grabbed the edge of the wall but was thrown down the corridor, slamming up against another wall before everything became still. Dazed, he lifted his head from where he had fallen to the floor. A hissing sound came and for a moment he thought that it was lethal fuel from the ship escaping into the atmosphere before he connected the sound. There had been a fire…the _Zar Ka_ …he shook his head, coughing as smoke filled what was left of the corridor…the hissing was water, dousing the fire, he registered faintly.

Qui-Gon stumbled upright, his wrist stinging as he steadied himself against the wall. The bone was possibly sprained, but he had little time to examine it, his ribs burned with pain and he wrapped his arm around his left side, where the damage was worse. He could hear voices, guttural low shouts. The Trevsins were nearby, moving around and somewhere, there was Obi-Wan. He could sense the younger man still through the bond, the pain binding them as much as it kept them from fully focusing.

His lightsaber hilt was still in his hand and Qui-Gon ignited it, using the green light of it to guide him through the dark smoke. He tried to reach for Obi-Wan through the bond, but he could not concentrate, the smoke was thick, suffocating. Blaster fire came from the other side of the ship, outside the ship… the heat from the still burning _Zar Ka_ was spreading, pressing through the passages of the Trevsin ship.

Qui-Gon gripped his lightsaber, cutting into the outer wall of the ship again. He heard his saber hiss and sputter as it hit liquid and Qui-Gon pulled back, shutting down the flickering blade. He could smell now the humidity and water. It had been foolish to not consider that before finding a way out. The hole he had cut was large enough for him to crawl through, smoke blinding him so that he moved without seeing, dropping into water that came only to his knees, boots sinking into mud.

Blaster fire echoed nearby, he shook his head, the world around him swam into focus. The _Zar Ka_ and Trevsin ship had impacted into the shallows of a lake, the thick swampy smell separate from the smoke and burning metal. There was clouded daylight, the atmosphere somewhat thicker than humans were accustom to. Large trees had been bent in half, some burning from where the front of the Trevsin ship had crashed.

Blaster fire came again and Qui-Gon made out the broad shapes of the Trevsins, perhaps ten of them, their silvery skin blending in with the smoke. He was without a workable lightsaber but it hardly mattered. The fear was gone, only a refusal to give in to the pain and exhaustion remained.

He pushed through the water, a slaver noticed him, turning and firing. Qui-Gon ducked the shot, increasing his speed, the Trevsin misjudging his next shot so that Qui-Gon’s hand was already twisting the blaster aside, backhanding the slaver and turning the weapon on him. He did not feel the need for revenge or anger as much as he felt finality. The heavy blaster weighed much more than a lightsaber, he had not used one in years, but the Trevsins were disorientated and he shot several before ducking behind a massive tree to try to pull in air, his lungs choked with smoke and the pain in his ribs. The green moss beneath his feet was spongy, not fully stable so close to the water’s edge and he moved before it gave in, firing rapidly into the group of Trevsins left. He wanted only to end the violence and the death, to find Obi-Wan. He could not sense the other man, only knew that he was alive through the bond that sparked in his mind, blazing as powerfully as the _Zar Ka_ had when it had fallen through the moon’s atmosphere.

The Trevsins were retreating and Qui-Gon staggered after them, ignoring the tall grass that tangled against his cloak, the blaster shot that grazed his shoulder. The Trevsins were trying to take cover into the woods on the other side of the lake. They were unfamiliar with the environment and confused from the crash and he shot more. The last few turned to face him, falling inevitably as he used a large boulder on the water’s edge for protection against their blasterfire, firing back. Qui-Gon felt numb, aching with pain as he moved toward the edge of the wreck, scanning the area for more Trevsins.

Water splashed against his boots as he entered the edge of the lake, his cloak dragging in it. Shots came from the other side and Qui-Gon increased his pace, rounding the corner of the smoldering ships when he stopped short. Obi-Wan was there, one arm holding Virmu upright, a yellow-green saber clenched in the other hand. A Trevsin lay a few meters away, hands still holding a blaster, dead from a deflected bolt.

Qui-Gon stared. Obi-Wan looked completely different, teeth barred in defiance or pain, bloodied, bruised, and covered in a dusting of some sort of white powder. His dark clothing was ripped and he staggered a few paces before gently lowering Virmu to the ground. Qui-Gon dropped his blaster, stepping forward and Obi-Wan’s head jerked up. Their eyes met and the bond flooded with their exhaustion, pain, joy…it overflowed into an emotion so powerful it was almost unbearable.

Everything sharpened in Qui-Gon’s mind and he was aware of Obi-Wan’s vivid eyes, the faint freckles along the base of his throat, the slight offset of his collarbones… Obi-Wan handed Virmu the saber hilt and Qui-Gon saw that the man’s hands were battered and scraped. A sound escaped him, a whisper, Obi-Wan’s name. Obi-Wan was moving toward him quickly, intent, and their arms were around one another, Obi-Wan’s mouth on his, hard, unrestrained, overwhelmingly relieved. Qui-Gon kissed back, hands framing that beloved face, feeling the sharpness of cheekbones, an unshaven jaw, the taste of salt and blood and smoke. He was gasping, crying openly without knowing it. Obi-Wan’s arms tightened around him, body trembling and Qui-Gon pulled him closer, not quite able to believe that it was over, that Obi-Wan was with him once more.

They separated only enough for him to wrap his arms more fully around Obi-Wan, to hold the man as the bond rushed between them, gleaming with the Force. Obi-Wan was shuddering as he pressed his face against Qui-Gon’s throat, his grip tight around the taller man’s waist. Qui-Gon kissed Obi-Wan’s shoulder, the dust there incredibly salty. He murmured Obi-Wan’s name over and over, a hand gently brushing through the younger man’s tangled short hair.

Qui-Gon rested his palm against the nape of the man’s neck, feeling and knowing only Obi-Wan through the Force, needing nothing else but this love that had kept them alive, that was powerful enough to cover every corner of the universe. Over Obi-Wan’s shoulder he saw what was left of the two ships sink further into the mud, smoke billowing up into the sky, the grassy clearing empty except for Virmu who watched them, her expression unreadable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow! now what's going to happen.... :)
> 
> so just a reminder, there are only four chapters left for this fic, it's bittersweet to think of it ending but i promise a happy ending. you guys have made this fic a joy to write and i appreciate every one of you who has been there for me, even if you never kudued or commented, just knowing that this fic is being read blows my mind. thanks bunches!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry I’m a day late, I had a doctor’s appointment on Wednesday. I do want to thank you so much for all the wonderful comments on the last chapter. I hope it doesn’t seem like I’m ignoring anyone, I check my inbox daily, but having limited internet on my phone means that it usually takes me a couple days to respond. By the way, if anyone wants some more jinnobi to read, I did write a short ficlet that’s here 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/6180256/chapters/16067947
> 
> Chapter twenty-two is also Qui-Gon’s pov and I hope you like it :). It was interesting to get to write Virmu again as it’s been quite a while since we’ve really seen her. 
> 
> Also my amazing sister did more chapter art, if you guys go back to chapter ten you’ll see an awesome picture of Baniss-Ena!
> 
> Feedback is always welcome!

Qui-Gon did not know how long they held one another, all he knew was wanting to not let go, needing to give Obi-Wan the comfort and peace the man had been without. He pulled back slightly, looking at Obi-Wan who raised his head tiredly. Qui-Gon searched the man’s face, taking in the damage there. Obi-Wan had been struck hard across the right cheekbone, his eye and jaw a mess of bruises. Blood from a cut along his temple had run down his face and dried. The skin along his left cheek was reddened and scraped, as if burned. His neck looked even worse, Qui-Gon touched Obi-Wan’s throat as carefully as possible with the tips of his large fingers, cataloguing the scratches and bruises there. Through the bond images came of hands that had tried to strangle Obi-Wan. He inhaled roughly.

“You’re hurt,” he whispered unnecessarily and Obi-Wan blinked up at him, his voice hoarse when he replied.

“So are you.”

A bruised thumb touched Qui-Gon’s split lip carefully, Obi-Wan’s skin coated with the smell and taste of salt. The smaller man’s arm loosened around Qui-Gon’s waist, mindful of the older man’s injured ribcage. The bond tilted slightly, their connection stretched and laden with pain and exhaustion. They could not go much longer without sleep and healing. Qui-Gon gazed into Obi-Wan’s eyes, the young man’s were dull, troubled, their bright color that flat gray they became when distressed. He could hear Obi-Wan’s harsh breathing, a slight rattling on the edge of a cough in his lungs. He brushed his fingers gently over Obi-Wan’s burned cheek, the rasp of the man’s unshaven jaw giving texture, white dust falling from dry skin. Salt powder, his mind supplied, understanding now where the burn had come from. Obi-Wan turned slightly, his shoulder held rigidly and Qui-Gon sensed pain there as well. Obi-Wan’s eyes scanned Qui-Gon’s face and torso, his hands sliding over Qui-Gon’s cloak, methodically searching for injuries.

Despite the overwhelming desire to take care of one another, Qui-Gon knew there were other matters that had to be dealt with. Qui-Gon glanced over at Virmu. She was pointedly looking away, golden eyes examining the surrounding area. She was too weak to stand unaided but she did not look as if she had been ill-treated, her gray-pink skin was unmarked, the sensitive ridges along her scalp pulsing healthily. Obi-Wan inclined his head at Qui-Gon’s silent analysis, each movement further emphasizing his fatigue.

“She was in a healing trance, I managed to wake her right before the Trevsins boarded the ship.”

Qui-Gon nodded, he could not sense the Grelian through the Force, but was not surprised. Virmu had always remained tightly shielded to him. Obi-Wan coughed and sharp alarm burst through Qui-Gon as Obi-Wan’s grip on the folds of his cloak tightened, the younger Jedi leaning on him for support.

“You need rest,” he murmured into Obi-Wan’s ear, helping hold the man steady, his hand tightening along Obi-Wan’s back for support, feeling the vertebrae of the spine though the man’s thin undershirt as Obi-Wan raised his head, a smear of blood at the corner of his mouth.

Obi-Wan shook his head, brow furrowed.

“There could still be Trevsins nearby.”

His determination was so familiar that Qui-Gon could not help feeling relief at hearing it again, even if he knew he should protest.

Obi-Wan frowned, clearly dazed with pain that he was relentlessly trying to control, the bond rising and falling between them. The smoke from the wreckage drifted through the clearing, the humid climate of Sh’Tar’va’s moon weighing on them both.

“I may have a concussion; it’s best if I don’t sleep.”

Qui-Gon swallowed but nodded. As much as they both needed treatment, Obi-Wan was right, there were things that needed to be done first.

“I’ll see what supplies I can scavenge from the Trevsins ship,” he said softly and Obi-Wan glanced up at him, still frowning.

“Be careful.”

Qui-Gon nodded, they exchanged a look without words, the bond filling the silence with shared thoughts and emotions. Worry, exhaustion, and longing hummed through them both and Qui-Gon cupped Obi-Wan’s cheek again, tilting the man’s head so that their foreheads touched. He breathed in, savoring the reality of Obi-Wan in his arms. They drew on the Force, on their powerful bond, giving and taking strength that they both needed in order to keep going. Qui-Gon lifted his head, letting his lips brush Obi-Wan’s forehead before stepping back.

There was a possibility that the ship still had a few Trevsins left alive inside it. Even without that danger climbing through the wreck would be taxing on his damaged ribs, but he was in much better shape than Obi-Wan and they needed any supplies they could find. Obi-Wan stepped back, moving around Qui-Gon to pick up the man’s blaster, his grip on it steady even as he stumbled slightly, eyes already scanning the area.

The area outside the clearing needed to be searched as well and Qui-Gon reluctantly left Obi-Wan to that as he approached the edge of the lake, staring through the dark smoke still billowing up in heavy clouds. The fire seemed to have dissipated, the smoking coming primarily from what remained of the _Zar Ka_. He stood still, water lapping against his boots as he gauged the stability of the wrecks and considered the safest way to approach. Qui-Gon stripped his cloak off to move more freely, wincing as his ribs jarred with pain. He set the cloak on a large rock, where the information drive in his pocket would be protected from the moisture of the damp ground.

Qui-Gon inhaled, the air feeling thick in his lungs. It was a drastic change from the dry recycled air of ships. The lake wasn’t very deep, almost more of a swamp, though the water was kept relatively clean through underground channels. The Trevin ship had crashed on its side, most of it still intact and above water. Smoking debris had crumbled around it, the smell of scorched metal everywhere. Qui-Gon glanced toward the clearing, watching as Obi-Wan moved along the edges of it with a stealth learned from years of Jedi training, the pain and fatigue pushed aside, resolve radiating throughout the bond.

Carefully, Qui-Gon approached the side of the ship, wading in up to his waist, keeping his lightsaber hilt above the water. Judging from how the ship had rolled, he estimated that cutting in at an angle would be most efficient. If the ship followed the basic Duro layout than he would be entering into crew living quarters.

He ignited his lightsaber, the green blade slicing into the ship, moving slowly so that the edges of the cut melted the metal hull, the outer sheet peeling backward. His shoulders and sides ached with pain but he kept it tightly controlled, taking solace from the hum of the bond in his mind. Smoke made it difficult to see, the heat from the wreckage intense. Qui-Gon reached for the Force, regulating his body temperature and oxygen intake to adjust to the conditions.

Finally, he had a large enough hole cut that he could fit his broad shoulders through. Qui-Gon hauled himself into the Trevsin ship, careful not to slice his hands on the ripped hull. He fell into an empty cabin, water splashing in with him as he steadied himself against what might have been the ceiling at one time. Mattresses from bunks had flipped over, the foam surface coming apart from one where it had caught on the edge of a bed. The metal bunks in the cabin were bolted into the floor and now hung empty on the wall. There was nothing of value in the cabin but Qui-Gon grabbed a few blankets from the jumble of bedding in one corner. He did not know how cold it was at night. Judging by the humidity it would not be uncomfortable, but Obi-Wan had a harder time staying warm. Sweat beaded on his brow, his long hair damp with the heat that filled the ship, making it difficult to breathe. Qui-Gon shook his head, focusing on what needed to be done. Hardware and mechanical supplies were his first priority, then food.

He needed to find a way to contact the Jedi Temple. None of them had comlinks anymore, but he could rewire a emergency comlink and reroute it to the Temple. An emergency comlink would be stationed in several areas, but he needed one that worked, in order to rebuild the structure to manipulate the signal range far enough to reach Coruscant. A standard emergency comlink tended to have a short signal range and he’d rather not send a system-wide distress signal as any ships in the area would most likely be operated by slavers.

Qui-Gon frowned, the direct urgency of their mission had faded, but they were still short on time. They needed to return to Coruscant as soon as possible to present evidence on the Sh’kil. Qui-Gon had no idea what had happened on planet, but considering Obi-Wan’s deliberate blocking of the bond and the state of his injuries, it was a miracle Obi-Wan had managed to come back to him at all.

He exited the cabin into the main hallway. Qui-Gon half walked-half crawled the twisted corridor, keeping in mind the standard setup of all Duro ships. The engine room would be at the stern, the cockpit at the bow, cabins were on one side, while recreational rooms, supply rooms, and the engine room were on the other. The medbay would be halfway through the ship. He followed the convoluted route, avoiding stepping on the strong glass window that had once ran down the length of the ship’s corridor wall and now was part of the floor, silt and sand at the bottom of the lake pressing against the cracked glass. A few inches of water had leaked into the ship, growing deeper the closer he got to the bow. The air appeared to curve almost as the heat evaporated the moisture and Qui-Gon was grateful that Obi-Wan had not been the one to investigate the wreck, even with deliberate cooling of his body temperature through the Force, the heat was extreme.

The hole where the _Zar Ka_ had collided was a twisted mess of metal and smoke, Qui-Gon climbing carefully through to the other side. The water was deeper here, up to his knees. Qui-Gon encountered only one Trevsin in what was left of the corridor, the slaver clearly dead. It was doubtful that anyone would have been able to survive both the crash and the rising temperature but Qui-Gon kept his movements silent, the Force open to possible danger.

He slipped into the ship’s small medbay. Most everything had been bolted down. The cabinets hung open, wire grids snapped into place to prevent the medical contents inside from falling when the ship’s gravity was damaged, an automatic feature that many Duro ships had. The Duros hadn’t fully stocked the medical bay, clearly not expecting the ship to be ready for flight when it was stolen. There were basic supplies though and Qui-Gon used the medical beds to pull himself up to the ceiling where the cabinets were now that the ship had landed on its side. The movement made his ribs grate unpleasantly and he hissed in pain. He felt Obi-Wan’s mind reach for him through the bond and he sent wordless reassurance back.

The metal of the medbeds was still hot to the touch, the walls scorched from the heat of the destroyed _Zar Ka_. Qui-Gon regulated his breathing, focusing through the smoke still present, the shortage of air. The few medical supplies he could find were bandages, antibiotics, and a limited amount of bacta gel. Nothing extremely helpful, but Virmu was skilled in healing, they would manage. He brought the supplies back to the cabin he had first climbed through, know that if he needed to make a quick exit everything would be in one area. Slowly, ribs aching, lungs stinging from the heat, Qui-Gon searched the rest of the ship. He encountered only three more bodies, one burned so badly that he had to step back, fighting nausea.

Most necessities were easy to find in supply rooms and thankfully, he found a still functional emergency comlink there. It was becoming too hot to linger but Qui-Gon examined the comlink quickly. It was an even shorter distress signal than he had first assumed. He would need to completely rearrange the hardware. He frowned. Most of the technology he needed was in the cockpit, which was fully submerged under water, due to the angle that the ship had impacted into the lake. He paused at the end of the corridor where the water had risen to, sweat beading his skin from the overpowering heat. Reluctantly, he backtracked to the engine room, hoping he could find the equipment he needed there.

When Qui-Gon finally exited the ship nearly an hour had passed, the distant sun was beginning to set, the shape of Sh’Tar’va visible as the moon had shifted into the beginning of its night rotation. It was still humid but he pulled his cloak on anyway. Qui-Gon carried supplies from the ship’s cabin to the edge of the clearing, ignoring how his body tensed with pain. He would deal with his injuries later. He glanced over at Obi-Wan and Virmu who were several meters away in the center of the grassy clearing. The clearing was somewhat rectangular, the shoreline of the lake cutting into it. Large trees created a sparse wood nearby. Obi-Wan had apparently finished searching the area and was now gathering wood for a fire from the opposite edge of the clearing as Virmu sat, legs crossed in a meditative pose.

Even at a distance, Qui-Gon could hear the stilted conversation between Obi-Wan and Virmu. He saw Obi-Wan shake his head tiredly, moving with clear exhaustion, his thin body seeming almost frail without the normal layers of a Jedi tunic. Some sort of bloodstained fabric was wrapped around his waist and Qui-Gon bit his lip, needing to take care of Obi-Wan even as he deliberately pushed aside his fear and finished carrying the supplies he’d gathered. When everything was accounted for, Qui-Gon turned his attention to collecting more firewood, sensing through the bond that Obi-Wan and Virmu needed to talk uninterrupted.

“You are my padawan!” Virmu snapped loud enough that Qui-Gon heard her.

Qui-Gon paused, looking at Obi-Wan through the trees. The younger man turned to Virmu, his face unable to be seen from Qui-Gon’s angle.

“No, I am not.”

Despite the pain radiating from Obi-Wan, the man’s voice was steady, his posture straight. Virmu narrowed her eyes as if seeing Obi-Wan for the first time, taking in the dark clothing, stained with blood and white salt powder, Obi-Wan’s battered bare hands and feet, the short hair now cut all the same length, scruffy but longer than a padawan’s should be. Pride and overwhelming love filled Qui-Gon, seeping like water into the bond as he watched Obi-Wan. He saw how the setting sun gleamed on the man’s skin and hair. Beneath the salt dust Obi-Wan was pale.

It was the first time, Qui-Gon realized, that he had seen Obi-Wan in daylight, on solid ground. They had been on ships and the shipyard the whole time he had known the man. It caused an ache to rise in him, a desire to fill those empty moments, moments he had not yet had with Obi-Wan. He longed to see Obi-Wan in the light of a thousand sunsets, to kiss the younger man in the moonlight, to sleep near him in the night. Virmu turned abruptly, so that Qui-Gon could no longer see her face any longer, Obi-Wan returned to checking the area. Qui-Gon almost out of hearing range when he heard Virmu speak again.

“You cannot replace your master with another, simply because you wish to.”

Qui-Gon stilled from where he was inside the treeline, knowing that Obi-Wan knew he was there but Virmu did not. Anger filtered through the bond and he did not know if it was his or Obi-Wan’s. To think that Obi-Wan would be so childish…did she know the man’s character at all? He heard Obi-Wan speak, low and firm.

“I am not replacing you, I see no reason to continue my apprenticeship.”

Virmu’s next words were scornful, dismissive.

“Only the Council can make the final decision on when you are ready for the trials, if you think – ”

Obi-Wan had moved further away, but his voice was cold and cutting when he did speak, the bond the only indicator that he was in pain, exhausted, and unsure.

“I have endured trials. There is nothing you can ask from me that I have not already done.”

There was a long period of silence before Virmu spoke, Qui-Gon almost unable to hear her over the slight rustling of leaves in the humid breeze.

“You are injured.” It was a statement of fact, not concern.

Obi-Wan nodded, still examining the grassy clearing for dead wood, his eyes flickering toward Qui-Gon’s presence in the trees, smoke drifting from the wreck in the lake. Virmu made a Grelian gesture that Qui-Gon did not understand but Obi-Wan seemed to, the younger man set the wood he had gathered down. This far away from the other man Qui-Gon could see that Obi-Wan moved with a sense of purpose, controlling a slight limp, one shoulder held stiffly, still attempting to conceal his discomfort from Virmu. It was an automatic defense, for the moment Virmu touched Obi-Wan’s mind she would know his pain. Qui-Gon bit his lip, hoping that Obi-Wan’s injuries would be healed, despite the lack of trust between Virmu and Obi-Wan.

The younger man knelt in front of Virmu, the salt powder on his skin and clothes catching the light, shining translucent in some areas, making him appear almost alien. Virmu reached out, her clawed hand resting lightly on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Their eyes closed and Qui-Gon felt the bond lurch as an unfamiliar presence touched Obi-Wan’s mind. Obi-Wan instinctively slammed shields up so that Qui-Gon stumbled, grabbing unto the nearest tree for sudden support as his vision blurred. He became fully aware of Virmu, her disapproval impossible to hide and her fear…she was afraid of Obi-Wan’s mind, of what it might do, of the power there and what she saw as a lack of control. Injuries were sought out but that was not the root of her reason for analyzing Obi-Wan through the Force and Qui-Gon fought the need to protect Obi-Wan, to block him from Virmu’s cold examination. The hum of the Force grated on the edge of unpleasant at this foreign presence attempting to access their bond, to study it. Obi-Wan’s shields rose further, fueled by Qui-Gon’s discomfort. Virmu’s mind slid away, revulsion and fear coming from her at the mental contact. Healing energy was pushed, almost too strong through Obi-Wan, Virmu cutting off the connection so suddenly that Qui-Gon gasped, blinking rapidly.

The bark of the tree he held on to grounded him in reality, the biting texture of it against his palm reminding him that he was still standing, Virmu’s Force presence gone. He looked up. The sun was nearly gone, the sunset lacking the normal range of color seen in most sunsets, the atmosphere too clouded for it. The setting sun still gave long shadows to the trees and Qui-Gon saw it glint off the wreckage in the water, saw how it lingered on Obi-Wan’s auburn hair, his fair skin and Obi-Wan turned away as if he could not bear to look at it. Obi-Wan was still kneeling before Virmu, her hand pulling away sharply from his shoulder. They studied one another, the silence so unbreakable that Qui-Gon could hear the sound of their measured breathing.

“There is still the mission on the Duro Starshipwright Shipyard.” Virmu spoke as if continuing an earlier conversation.

Obi-Wan inclined his head but his eyes remained fixed on the Grelian, a calculating look that Qui-Gon had seen before.

“The Duro thefts have been resolved.”

“The culprit?” Virmu asked sharply

“Levet Debrek, security officer, and Kiom Jokol, head engineer,” Obi-Wan responded automatically, his voice quiet and low.

Virmu’s eyes widened, her brow furrowing.

“Duros?” she questioned skeptically and Obi-Wan frowned slightly, the dark bruising along his face had lightened somewhat, though Qui-Gon was unsure if it was the fading daylight or Virmu’s healing.

“They were extremist of the Duro Recolonization movement. They sold the ships to the Neimoidians for credits to fund their plans of a colony on Duro.”

Virmu rested clawed hands on her knees, perhaps finding solace in the meditative pose.

“Were the Neimoidians questioned?” she asked sharply.

“Qui-Gon spoke to them but there was not enough verification that the Neimoidians knew the ships were stolen, it’s likely they will not face many consequences if it reaches the courts.”

A sharp look of distaste flickered over Virmu’s face at Obi-Wan addressing Qui-Gon by first name, but she returned to the subject at hand.

“Kiom and Debrek?”

“Baniss-Ena and the other officers secured them in Duro prison, they will be tried for their crimes by the Duros.”

“And the Trevsins?”

Obi-Wan blinked, his face suddenly expressionless, the bond flooding with his unease of mentioning what had happened while Virmu was in a healing trance.

“They escaped Duro prison and captured you from the medcenter the day after we were attacked at Builder’s Hotel. When we were informed of their escape they had already stolen a ship and left for Sh’Tar’va.”

“Did the council grant you permission to follow them?” Virmu demanded, eyes narrowed as she stared at Obi-Wan.

Where once Obi-Wan may have been deferential and explained his reasoning, his voice was hard, his face giving nothing away.

“That is irrelevant, you would not have survived if I hadn’t.”

Obi-Wan stood, the movement conveying much less pain than before, though there were some injuries unable to be completely restored with how quickly Virmu had severed the healing. Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan step aside to return to collecting firewood when Virmu stilled them both, her sharp voice and keen eyes accusatory as she stared up at Obi-Wan.

“This situation between Master Jinn and you will not continue. I will not approve of you betraying the Code any longer.”

Obi-Wan turned to face her, his gaze flickering away toward the wood, settling on Qui-Gon’s before returning to Virmu. Every line of his body in the rapidly increasing darkness was taunt, the bond flaring with Obi-Wan’s protectiveness, his defiance.

“Your approval is also irrelevant. I will make my own decision on this matter.” Obi-Wan spoke with such finality that Virmu fell quiet.

They parted, Obi-Wan leaving the clearing to approach Qui-Gon. Words were not necessary, Qui-Gon found, not at that moment. Obi-Wan’s lips were pressed firmly together, his eyes glittering in the falling darkness, the distant light of two other moons of Sh’Tar’va beginning to rise.

Pain still washed over them, Obi-Wan needing more time to heal than what he had been given. The bond was slightly shielded and Qui-Gon knew that Obi-Wan was searching for control, still uncomfortable at Virmu’s choice to probe the bond for weaknesses. Qui-Gon touched Obi-Wan’s arm briefly but sensed even that motion was too much for Obi-Wan. He pulled away, moving toward the clearing with the firewood he had gathered, offering the mental embrace of the bond to Obi-Wan, should it be needed. He could sense the younger man leave, walking further into the woods and near the lake, by the sound of his footsteps.

Qui-Gon moved in silence as he cleared an area for the fire. It was near Virmu, but she said nothing and when he glanced over at her he saw that she had returned to mediation. Qui-Gon carefully built the fire, arranging the wood so that it would burn slowly. It was not necessary to have an open flame near them, but the fire would distract most curious wildlife and provide a stronger source of lighting than the two distant moons. The night air was hardly any cooler, the humidity unrelenting.

As he worked, Qui-Gon thought of Sh’Tar’va. The iciness of it he had glimpsed in his dreams, but he knew little of the mine. Obi-Wan had blocked that from him and was still shielding that. The man’s injuries, the salt burns, and dehydration made it clear that he had been in a salt mine. Qui-Gon frowned, hands trembling slightly as pain and anger rose inside him. He had seen many types of mining as a Jedi, but salt mines were often the worst. The conditions were brutal, the life expectancy of the miners extremely short.

He sensed Virmu wake, her eyes on him as he set back from the blazing wood, his head suddenly spinning, his cracked ribs protesting even slight movement now. He could feel Obi-Wan through the bond, but it was still not the fluid sensation he was used to. Obi-Wan’s mind was turned inward, thinking hard and Qui-Gon pulled away slightly, giving the man the privacy he needed.

“You have damaged your ribcage,” Virmu stated, and Qui-Gon nodded.

He did not want to speak with her at the moment, he did not particularly like how she had handled any situation concerning Obi-Wan, but it was foolish to not take assistance when it was needed. He moved to where he sat in front of her, mirroring the same position of legs crossed, hands resting on knees. Qui-Gon looked down at her, waiting. After a long pause, Virmu reached out, a clawed hand settling on his side, the Force pulsing with healing energy. Her touch was remote, but the Force still crawled with her disapproval as she sensed the edge of his bond with Obi-Wan. Automatically Qui-Gon shielded, determined to protect the bond completely from her. She drew back, concentrating more on the threads of pain weaving through him. Her Force presence was more removed than it had been with Obi-Wan, unfettered by the fear she had carried when touching Obi-Wan’s mind. The lingering tight pain in his ribs loosened and faded, the rest of his injuries slowly disappearing. He felt her mind retreat at the first possibility and Qui-Gon opened his eyes. Virmu blinked up at him, her expression flat before she looked away.

“The surface bruising may take time to fade but your injuries were not difficult.”

 _Obi-Wan’s were_ , Qui-Gon thought, his jaw tightening as he thought of how he had seen them earlier, how long it had taken Virmu to heal only the worse damage, how Obi-Wan had avoided Qui-Gon’s questioning gaze in the woods. She had challenged Obi-Wan about the bond as well, unable to understand it. He was proud of Obi-Wan for disregarding her criticism, but Qui-Gon was worried as well, he did not know how this would affect them when they returned to the temple. He frowned. There was no way that he would be allowed to stay with Obi-Wan once they returned. Relationships were forbidden. It was possible that they could arrange to meet secretly but what sort of life was that?

Deliberately he put such thoughts aside. The important matter was making sure that their evidence reached the Senate and that the Sh’kil and Trevsins faced the consequences of trafficking and enslavement. The slave system was collapsing in on itself, something he would not have believed possible before. He reached into his cloak pocket, feeling for the information drive reassuringly. His fingers brushed something soft and he suddenly remembered. Slowly, he drew the coil of braided hair into the light. The beads on it shone, the red-brown strands vivid in the firelight. Qui-Gon handed it to Virmu who watched his every move.

“Obi-Wan wished for me to give this to you.”

Slowly, Virmu closed her thin hand over the long braid. Silently, she set it aside. Qui-Gon moved back to feeding the fire. He was grateful that she was alive, that she had not suffered, but he did not think he could endure her ceaseless judgement of Obi-Wan for much longer. He could feel Virmu watching him. Some of the wood cracked in the fire as moisture trapped inside the bark evaporated. The singing of night insects was the only sound in the area. He waited for her to speak.

“I do not appreciate you influencing my padawan’s decisions. His choice to follow my captors to Sh’Tar’va was impractical and pointless. His need to live in the past prevents him from accepting present obligations. I am well aware of your own refusal to follow the Code but I will not allow such disobedience from Obi-Wan.”

Qui-Gon jerked his head up to stare at her, the firelight highlighting Virmu’s shrewd expression.

“You do not know what he sacrificed to return to this. He gave up everything to find you,” he snapped, his lilting voice unusually harsh at the thought that she saw Obi-Wan’s selfless choice to go to Sh’Tar’va as nothing more than a urge to rebel.

How could she not understand? Obi-Wan’s suffering was still so near, gleaming through the currents of their bond. She must have seen it when healing Obi-Wan, she must know how difficult it had been for Obi-Wan to return to slavery. Virmu’s mouth twisted as if tasting something bitter,

“And what did you give up? Your celibacy?” she hissed.

Qui-Gon stood quickly, anger pounding in his veins. That she would think that was the only reason that he was with Obi-Wan…he left the warm firelight without a word, walking into the sparse woods, needing to find some sense of calm. He did not know if his frustration drew Obi-Wan or if the man was walking back in that direction but Obi-Wan was moving toward him, almost blending in with the trees with the light gray flightsuit he now wore. The younger man stopped a foot away, the shadows of night highlighting the weariness hidden beneath perfect posture, his space-pale skin glowing in the faint light of the double moons.

“Virmu?” he asked and Qui-Gon shook his head.

“It’s not important,” he muttered and Obi-Wan studied him before nodding.

The younger man had apparently cleaned in the lake, finding the soap and flightsuit in the supplies Qui-Gon had brought ashore. Obi-Wan looked better now that he no longer had salt dust and dried blood clinging to him. But he was so tired and Qui-Gon stepped forward, gently embracing the man, angry all over again that Virmu could not see the damage that Obi-Wan had withstood, the sacrifices he had made to find her again, how close he had come to dying.

“I love you,” Qui-Gon said softly and Obi-Wan exhaled roughly, resting his cheek on Qui-Gon’s shoulder, his wet hair soft and sleek against the older man’s jaw.

There was silence for a long time, Obi-Wan’s arm around him held loose to avoid jostling Qui-Gon’s still tender ribs.

“It was so terrible,” Obi-Wan said finally and the raw pain and fear in his voice cut into Qui-Gon like a knife.

Obi-Wan lifted his head, staring into the distant woods.

“I can’t get clean from it. The mine, the slaves…it was so much worse then I thought it would be.”

He was quiet, controlled even though the bond made his emotions tangible. Qui-Gon touched the man’s bruised throat, careful as his fingers felt the jawline, the crooked collarbone, the larynx, feeling the sensation of Obi-Wan swallowing.

“I’m sorry,” Qui-Gon said softly and knew his apology was not asked for but he needed to say it.

He regretted not being able to protect Obi-Wan from the trauma of enslavement. He was angry that Virmu did not understand, he was so relieved Obi-Wan was alive that he could concentrate on little else. He was afraid that when they returned to Coruscant he would never see Obi-Wan again. Whether or not Obi-Wan was knighted, he could not ask Obi-Wan to give up his life as a Jedi and he knew the younger man would not consider asking him to do the same.

Obi-Wan stepped closer, his eyes intent, bright in the darkness and moonlight. Nocturnal insects were singing and there came the distant splashing of amphibious wildlife on the other side of the lake. The air tasted wet and earthy, beneath the lingering smoke Qui-Gon could smell the clean scent of the soap Obi-Wan had used. They stood very close, Obi-Wan looking up at him, his thin body strong as he took Qui-Gon’s face in his hands and kissed him with equal parts tenderness and focus.

Qui-Gon’s mouth opened to Obi-Wan’s, welcomed the man fully, hands cradling Obi-Wan’s face, tilting it to kiss deeper and he recalled that the last time they had kissed in this way had been aboard the _Zar Ka_ , when they had made love. Qui-Gon longed to have that again, not just for the still overwhelming beauty of the sexual, but to have the security of Obi-Wan in his arms, to make safe their bond, to smooth over skin and not have to see bruises and cuts on the one he loved.

Obi-Wan made a soft sound at the following kiss, his fingers touching Qui-Gon’s shoulders, thumb sliding over the man’s throat. Qui-Gon caught that hand in his, gently using the little Force healing abilities he had to soothe the aching pain still in Obi-Wan’s fingers. They separated slightly, Obi-Wan stepped back, his pale face flushed, clear eyes watching Qui-Gon with that calm steady gaze that Qui-Gon had missed. he looked down at their entangled hands, Qui-Gon’s larger fingers soothing over the bruised fingertips, careful where a knuckle was swollen slightly.

“We had to dig the salt from the walls with our hands,” Obi-Wan said quietly, explaining everything and nothing.

Qui-Gon knew from the way he said ‘we’ that some part of Obi-Wan was still back there on Sh’Tar’va, still connected to the dark pain of slavery. He held Obi-Wan’s hand in his, needing to comfort, to find his own sense of control as he reached out with the bond and sensed injuries only half-healed by Virmu. Images flashed between them, a metal bar, clouds of smoke and ash, a face flickering between them, one of the Sh’kil. It was not the Jedi way, to feel anger and hate but Qui-Gon could not easily let go of his rage at what had been done to Obi-Wan, what was happening to billions of individuals in every corner of the galaxy.

“We will present our evidence to the Council, as soon as we return to Coruscant,” he whispered in an attempt to convince them both that something would be done.

Obi-Wan nodded, a line appearing between his brows. He reached into one of the numerous pockets on the standard issued flightsuit, the durable fabric a little too big for his frame. He pulled out a small data chip, handing it to Qui-Gon.

“I took what information I could from the Sh’kilian leader of the mine.”

Qui-Gon heard the tension in Obi-Wan’s voice, the admission through the bond that would not be spoken aloud. He did not ask how Obi-Wan collected the information, only accepted the chip carefully.

“This will have to be copied. We can’t risk losing any data.”

Obi-Wan circled his wrist with his other hand, a gesture that Qui-Gon had never seen. The anxiety communicated by the motion did not reach the younger man’s face, his expression stern, concentrating.

“It already is, I downloaded the information through receptors in my lightsaber.”

Qui-Gon blinked, unaware that such a concept was possible but he had learned quickly to never underestimate Obi-Wan.

“Is your lightsaber functional? You had Virmu’s – ”

Obi-Wan interrupted him.

“I gave her mine until I found hers on board the ship.”

Qui-Gon inclined his head, eyes narrowed in thought even as he noticed how close they still stood, how Obi-Wan’s wet hair was laying mostly flat now, water beading at the nape of his neck and running into the collar of his flight suit.

“How did you keep the Trevsins from finding this?” he asked and Obi-Wan glanced away before fixing Qui-Gon with a level look, tilting his head back to make up for their difference in height.

“I was never searched by them, but I took precautions,” he hesitated before continuing, “I implanted it in my hip.”

Qui-Gon raised eyebrows before nodding.

“I suppose that would be effective,” he remarked quietly and Obi-Wan shrugged.

“From a short-term perspective. The iron content in my blood could have been corrosive over time.” He paused, frowning at the ground, “We must hurry,” he said, lifting his head, meeting Qui-Gon’s gaze with sudden intensity, his eyes vivid even in the near darkness, “the slaves cannot hold out forever. Some were willing to give their lives so I could escape.”

Through the bond, images rose automatically in Obi-Wan’s mind, too tangled to decipher, too terrible to comprehend. Qui-Gon laid his hands gently on Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

“Their fight will not be in vain. I promise.”

Obi-Wan searched his face before nodding. The fire in his gaze faded and Qui-Gon was overwhelmingly aware of the bone-weary exhaustion that the younger man felt. He reached for Obi-Wan’s hand, holding on carefully, offering support as they returned to the clearing.

Virmu said nothing when they approached the fire, deliberately ignoring the silent companionship between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon as they brought needed supplies further into the clearing. They ate a quiet dinner of prepackaged rations that Qui-Gon had pulled from the pantry. Virmu returning to meditating soon after, her body still weak from the extended trance she had been.

Qui-Gon spread out the tech equipment he had salvaged and the emergency comlink, sliding open the back panel and disconnecting the main wiring. He paused to strip wiring from a spare datapadd, using that to boost the emergency comlink’s signal. The two small data receptors had to be wired in tightly and Qui-Gon passed the comlink to Obi-Wan, the younger Jedi’s fingers were smaller and he was more mechanically inclined. Obi-Wan slipped the two pieces in with a sharp click, turning the casing over and examining Qui-Gon’s wiring, making corrections here and there.

“The signal may not reach Coruscant,” he said quietly, and Qui-Gon nodded, handing Obi-Wan durapliers before Obi-Wan asked for them.

Their heads leaned over the detailed work, hands occasionally brushing as they exchanged tools, voices murmuring softly. Qui-Gon did not consider Virmu or the still unfamiliar environment. He was focused exclusively on their work, distracted from it only by the pitch of Obi-Wan’s low voice, the brush of his fingers, their nearness after so long apart. It was bittersweet, their togetherness. He was not sure if or when it would come again. He did not want to let go of Obi-Wan, nor did he wish to stand in the man’s way.

He kept his worry shielded from the bond. Obi-Wan’s words when they had accepted their feelings for one another came back to him, _If this is what we have, then we cannot let them separate us,_ but much had changed in that time. Obi-Wan’s behavior to Virmu was no longer selflessly obedient and Qui-Gon doubted that the man would remain a padawan for much longer. What would happen to him once he was knighted? Would the Council trust him or would they believe as Virmu continued to do so, that Obi-Wan’s Force abilities were dangerous? He looked over at Obi-Wan, not surprised to see that the younger man was frowning as he readjusted their sensors, the comlink was far from being repaired, the bond weighed down with Obi-Wan’s fatigue. Qui-Gon set aside the tools he had, reaching for the medical supplies instead.

The night air was moist and thick around them. The distant chirping pattern of insects continued, punctuated by an occasional odd birdcall, but the lingering smoke seemed to dissuade any of the wildlife from appearing, or perhaps it was the sharp antibiotic scent of the bacta that Qui-Gon applied to Obi-Wan’s hands that discouraged them. He turned a wrist, feeling the bone too sharply as he spread the healing gel along the palm and fingertips. His much larger fingers moved precisely and gently, smoothing over scars and bruises. Obi-Wan’s hand flexed slightly under Qui-Gon’s at the tingling sensation of the bacta, but otherwise he remained still, face calm. His expression was surprisingly open as he watched Qui-Gon work, ignoring Virmu who sat on the other side of the fire, flame alternatively highlighting and shadowing her face. There was a sense of acceptance in their bond, Virmu’s disapproval did not threaten Obi-Wan in the way it might have before.

After bandaging the man’s hands, Qui-Gon reached for another pack of bacta, aware of Obi-Wan’s other injuries, the points of pain that still stuttered through the bond. Obi-Wan looked away, shaking his head, lips pressed tightly together. Qui-Gon frowned. At first he wondered if Obi-Wan was trying to avoid offending Virmu, by admitting that her Force healing was not fully effective, but he saw how Obi-Wan turned to face him, sorrow and tension vivid in his clenched jaw, his red-rimmed eyes. The firelight’s glow on his skin gave an illusion of warmth, but he was too pale, too thin, too worn down by everything. Always, Qui-Gon had known Obi-Wan to be man possessing incredible strength of will, the mental and physical fortitude to keep working long after others would quit. But now the bond was stilling, Obi-Wan looking incredibly young in his gray flight suit and untidy hair, only his eyes conveying what he had suffered.

“I must sleep,” Obi-Wan said, not bothering to lower his voice.

Virmu looked up from her light meditation, her gold eyes studying, perhaps confused at what only she would see as an admission of weakness. Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan stumble through the bond, his breathing deliberately controlled, looking into the fire now and Qui-Gon knew that for all the younger man’s determination, Obi-Wan had reached the end of his ability to put aside exhaustion. It had been days since sleep, since there was even the safety to do so.

Qui-Gon nodded, handing Obi-Wan a blanket. Obi-Wan stretched out on the ground, flat on his back, head tilted back to look up at the stars, the ghostly shape of Sh’Tar’va still visible above them, smoke wreathing overhead from the fire and the crashed ships. Obi-Wan’s eyes met Qui-Gon’s before closing. Qui-Gon slipped his cloak off, pulling it over the smaller man’s body as another blanket. He brushed a hand through Obi-Wan’s hair, the color very red in the firelight, before he rested his hand over Obi-Wan’s, hearing the younger man exhale, feeling the shields through their bond fall one by one as Obi-Wan began to let go. It was a sensation of unwinding, of coming full circle, the warmth of the bond filling their minds, the need for closeness and touch tempered by the need for sleep. It took several minutes for Obi-Wan to loosen control enough that his breath evened out, his heart-rate slowing, the bond verifying that he was asleep.

Qui-Gon kept his hand on top of Obi-Wan’s, he watched the firelight play over the man’s features, still bruised, but healing. There was so much about the last few days that he did not know. He was not sure if Obi-Wan would ever speak to him of it. He accepted that, knowing that Obi-Wan would speak when he was ready. He looked up and saw that Virmu was still watching them, Qui-Gon returned his gaze to Obi-Wan. He did not care what his expression gave away. Virmu had seen their bond, despite all her objections she had to know that what Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were together was so much more than what they were apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…looks like Virmu does not ship obi/qui…
> 
> The weather where I’m at is basically the same as Sh’Tar’va’s moon, which I think is a little humid for Qui-Gon, but Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to mind.
> 
> Next chapter is Obi-Wan’s pov. I hope to have it up on the 15th, but it might end up a few days late as I have a little less free time now. Only three chapters left!!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I’ve been a bit out of touch with whats going on in the outside world, not having internet where I’m living, but a friend did text me about the Orlando shooting just as I was finishing writing this chapter. I can’t even put into words the feelings I felt hearing of the shooting. The amount of amazing people now gone, simply because of hate... I don’t know guys, it really shook me up, as a gay woman and just as a human being, seeing this direct attack against the gay community. My thoughts are with the survivors and the families of those lost. Please be kind to one another. 
> 
> Obi-Wan’s pov –

It had been days since Obi-Wan had slept and months since he had slept so completely. The slight awareness he clung to during sleep disappeared under the strain of exhaustion. In Qui-Gon’s presence he could rest without being vulnerable to danger. The first part of the night he slept in a dreamless state of pure fatigue, but he half-woke sometime later, trembling from a vague nightmare of the mines. He sensed Qui-Gon near him in the darkness, a large hand touching his shoulder gently, the Force soothing through him. Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed, he had thought that with the Force bond the nightmares would vanish, but that was not the case. With distance and time the sting of the memories would fade but he would travel with the scars forever, as permanent as the tattoo he’d been given as a child. Sleep returned, hazy and uncertain, his tired body welcoming it.

Again, there was the nothingness that accompanied deep sleep, then the memories returning with the smell of salt, ash, and burning flesh. Lungs filling with frozen air, choked back cries, the chaos in the mines, Mem’vokla sitting on his thin cot, battered hands holding a jug of precious water close, the expression on Cage’s face as she shot the guard in font of him. _Look around you, none of these slaves will stop fighting, not until they’re dead_. The words snapped something through him, the noise of a remembered blastershot jolting him awake.

Obi-Wan’s eyes flew open, body instantly returning to alertness, the Force rising and ebbing through him. He tensed, remembering the mines and the danger of sleeping, but already the panic was ebbing as he took in his surroundings. Tall dry grass rising near him with large trees in the distance, a clouded gray sky hanging over everything, the humidity seeping into his throat so that it took a few breaths to adjust to the thickened atmosphere. He thought of Cage and Mem’vokla and the risks they had all taken, did the two women have control of the mine now? Had they been killed in the fighting? The questions swirled through his mind and tension remained in his muscles, a need to move, to hurry. He could not allow more slaves to die for his freedom.

_Obi-Wan?_

He stilled, settling slightly as Qui-Gon touched him through the bond, the man’s presence resonating as near the lake, instead of the clearing. The sound of the man’s mindvoice was quiet, his emotions revealing concern. Obi-Wan mentally reached back.

_Have we made contact with the Temple?_

Qui-Gon’s thoughts shifted, focusing on information before retreating a bit in the bond, sensing Obi-Wan’s agitation.

_Yes, I completed the repairs and contacted the Council three hours ago. Jedi Knight Tukahla Xinx is nearby and has just finished a mission, she has been given our coordinates and will arrive before nightfall. We will return with her to the Temple._

Obi-Wan frowned, it would take days to return, as far as they were from Coruscant now. Days they couldn’t afford to spare, not with the situation at the mine. He took a breath, deliberately putting aside his worry regarding Sh’Tar’va. There was nothing he could do but wait. As he focused on calming his mind, Obi-Wan became aware of noise, an abundance of different birds singing. He blinked, remaining still. It had been a long time since he had heard birds, months since there had been a mission planetside, he was used to the quietness of space. Now he could pick out the sounds of at least twelve different birdcalls, the movement of light wind through trees, and distant splashing in the lake.

Obi-Wan could no longer hear the snapping of wood in the fire. It had been allowed to burn out, he registered from the thick smoky smell. He considered his injuries. There was pain along the middle of his back where he had been whipped but it was slight, unimportant. Soreness lingered in his side and shoulder where Skausk had struck him with the metal bar, though Virmu had healed the majority of damage there as well as his concussion. Cuts and bruises were fading and therefore inconsequential. He was still exhausted but it was not to the point it had been.

Obi-Wan shifted, sitting up slowly and pushing blankets aside, pausing as he realized the top one was Qui-Gon’s cloak. He touched the dark brown fabric, a small smile crossing his face. He heard movement and glanced up to see Virmu watching him. She was standing, flexing clawed limbs, testing her muscle strength after days of sleep. Obi-Wan looked down at his still battered hands, recalling their conversation from the day before. She had been adamant that he had disobeyed the Jedi path by his choices and he had found himself no longer bothered about whether she approved. He stood slowly, folding the blankets and Qui-Gon’s cloak, setting them aside. He nodded to Virmu but did not speak. There was little to discuss that they had not already talked about. She would perhaps never understand his reasons for why he had followed the slavers; it was foolish of him to have hoped that she would.

He found Qui-Gon sitting on a large rock on the edge of the lake, the man’s hair wet and loose, his tunics sticking to damp skin. Obi-Wan glanced down, noticing that Qui-Gon was barefoot. He stepped closer and Qui-Gon looked up from where he was staring at the wreckage of the two ships. They regarded one another. What bruises he could see on the older man had yellowed overnight, the discoloration on the skin almost completely faded.

Qui-Gon said nothing, only moved over so that Obi-Wan could sit beside him. He smelled of soap and water, his eyes very blue. They listened to the birdsong around them, the thick feel of the humidity comforting to Obi-Wan. The bond flowed between them, Qui-Gon’s Force presence distracted almost, brooding over something.

“You are angry with Virmu,” Obi-Wan remarked calmly and Qui-Gon sighed, a slight frown deepening the light lines around his mouth.

“She should not be so judgmental of you.”

Obi-Wan lifted a shoulder, wincing as it pulled at the still healing whiplashes. He did not know if Qui-Gon or Virmu had had many opportunities to talk, but it was apparent the little discussion they did have had not gone well.

“She believes she is still my master,” he responded simply.

It was a statement, more than an explanation, and Qui-Gon’s frown deepened. He looked at Obi-Wan, his stern expression softening slightly as he reached out with a large hand, touching Obi-Wan’s throat very gently, fingertips brushing over the still healing scratches and bruising there.

“That does not give her the right to be unkind.”

The words were said quietly but Obi-Wan knew what they meant in the bond, how deeply Qui-Gon had wished for Virmu to treat Obi-Wan as her apprentice and not as an inconvenience. Obi-Wan’s eyes trailed over Qui-Gon’s features, feeling a sense of peace at just being near the man after so long apart. Qui-Gon’s hand rested on his shoulder now and Obi-Wan reached up, laying his palm over the man’s larger hand, grateful for the stillness around them, broken only by birdsong and the soft lapping of the water in the lake.

“There is something else bothering you,” Obi-Wan said after awhile, his low voice thoughtful as he sensed other concerns through their bond, things that Qui-Gon was still considering, still worried over.

Qui-Gon shook his head, turning back to the lake, warm fingers slipping away.

“It can wait. We must compile all our information about Sh’Tar’va before we reach Coruscant. We will speak to the Senate as soon as we arrive.”

Obi-Wan stared out at what was left of the wreckage in the water, aware that the abrupt change in topic was a diversion from his earlier question, but it was something that still needed to be discussed. He pushed back memories of Sh’Tar’va and focused on the logistics of presenting their evidence.

“Jedi discuss their missions before the Council first. They are not allowed to speak to the Senate without Council approval,” he reminded Qui-Gon, unsure of what the man was planning.

Qui-Gon nodded, his gaze was still distant and troubled, his wet hair framing his face, the shoulders of his tunic darkening from the water droplets seeping from his hair.

“True,” he answered quietly, “But there is a loophole to that mandate. If the information revealed goes against Council wishes, but is necessary to maintain peace for a civilization, the Senate can be informed directly by a Jedi, without the Council’s approval.”

Obi-Wan looked sharply at Qui-Gon.

“That would mean the Council would have to disagree with the very principles of the Order.”

Qui-Gon inclined his head in a nod.

“Which they did when they refused to consider perusing trafficking involved with the slave trade.”

Obi-Wan bit his lip, remembering the years he had spent without understanding the strange memories of Sh’Tar’va, the overwhelming need to comprehend what must have happened, the research he had hacked into from the Jedi Archives. The dark underbelly of the slave system had been easy to uncover but laws had protected slavery from a killing blow. Laws that pertained to borders and trade routes, laws that protected both honest traders and criminal traffickers without carrying about the difference between the exchange of products, or the exchange of people.

“The slave trade may be prevalent throughout the galaxy but the majority of slavers exist in the Outer Rim. The Republic has no jurisdiction there,” Obi-Wan explained quietly, bitterness seeping into his voice, the bond tight with it.

“That should not prevent Jedi from investigating the matter,” Qui-Gon said softly and Obi-Wan tilted his head, watching the taller man out of the corner of his eye.

“The Jedi work for the Senate,” he pointed out, intrigued by Qui-Gon’s deliberate disagreement with Temple policy.

“And they are hindered by the Senate’s shortcomings,” Qui-Gon remarked firmly, turning his torso to meet Obi-Wan’s gaze fully.

Obi-Wan looked at his beloved, the slight lines that graced the man’s handsome face, the exhaustion at what they’d been through, the relief at being together again. That burning need to destroy the slave trade ran through both of them and Obi-Wan knew he would do everything within his power to make sure that the Sh’kil were ruined. He did not speak of his own determination, instead he reached over, resting a hand on Qui-Gon’s knee, feeling the warmth of the man’s skin beneath layers of cloth.

“You will have a difficult time convincing Virmu that you are not behaving against the Code with that philosophy,” he remarked dryly and saw Qui-Gon smile fleetingly before the softness of the moment became serious, Qui-Gon touching the edge of Obi-Wan’s left collarbone, tracing the crooked line of it beneath Obi-Wan’s rumpled flight suit.

“I do not believe I am the only Jedi who questions why we allow terrible things to happen, simply because it occurs on a planet outside Republic borders,” Qui-Gon whispered.

His voice was filled with a fierce sorrow that Obi-Wan had always known, the bond twisting with it. Obi-Wan thought of Cage and Mem’vokla, of the other slaves fighting and dying for their freedom, near enough that he could see the blue-white orb of Sh’Tar’va from where he was but far enough away that there was nothing he could do to help. Obi-Wan tightened his grip on Qui-Gon’s kneecap, clear eyes studying the older man.

“You are not,” he replied with a calmness he no longer felt.

Their bond was awash with restlessness, an unsettling energy that surpassed lingering exhaustion and pain, building into a pressing urge to do what they could to destroy the slave trade before it was too late.

* * *

While Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon waited for the arrival of Tukahla Xinx, they organized information and discussed what would and would not be necessary to include in the evidence that they would present to the Senate. The concept of addressing the heart of the galaxy’s political system did not intimidate Obi-Wan. He had been to enough political events with Virmu that any novelty of interacting with senators and planetary leaders had faded at a very young age. Now, he felt mostly distaste and boredom for the petty bureaucracies of the Senate and was relieved that Qui-Gon would handle the majority of public speaking.

Qui-Gon had salvaged a blank datapad from the Trevsin ship that was easily restored to working condition after some rewiring. Obi-Wan looked down at it, typing in information rapidly. It was difficult to compartmentalize his experiences on Sh’Tar’va into unemotional data. Each memory cut into him, images of the mine, the guards, the camp. He frowned, writing down the monthly record of slave purchases, the numbers still clear in his mind from glimpsing them on Skausk’s computer. Obi-Wan paused, feeling cold at the thought of Skausk, despite the humid climate. He looked up, over to where Qui-Gon and Virmu were speaking a few meters away, discussing practicalities of the mission without going into detail. He had not told the man about killing Skausk, had barely spoken about what it had been like to be enslaved again. There hadn’t been time for him to come to terms with everything that had happened. Obi-Wan was reluctant to explain, but knew he could no longer remain guarded, it was not fair to Qui-Gon, and realistically, the older man needed to know if they intended to speak openly to the Senate.

Still he held back from saying anything, watching the strained conversation between Virmu and Qui-Gon. Virmu’s arms were crossed over the white high collar robe she still wore, her lined face looking even more severe and somewhat out of place in the tranquil surroundings. Even without the open bond, Obi-Wan knew from Qui-Gon’s deceptively mild tone that the man was frustrated with the other Jedi master as Virmu frowned and turned away.

 _It is no use expecting her support_ , Obi-Wan voiced through their link.

Obi-Wan felt more than saw Qui-Gon sigh, the man walking back toward him.

_I cannot tolerate her need to express disappointment with you._

Obi-Wan gave a small smile at Qui-Gon’s protectiveness. He set the datapad on the flattened grass around him, pushing a hand through his untidy auburn hair, listening to the bright sounds of birds fluttering from tree to tree, still singing.

_She is out of her element here, much has happened since she was asleep, none of which she had any control over._

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow as he reached where Obi-Wan sat, kneeling a few paces away to examine the information drive from the _Zar Ka’s_ computer.

 _You forgive her,_ Qui-Gon said softly in the bond, confusion replacing his indignation.

Obi-Wan raised his head, green-blue eyes meeting Qui-Gon’s.

_No. I understand her. It is not the same._

They returned to their work, the bond silent but taunt with the need to keep moving. Obi-Wan worked mostly with information from memory, accessing the thoughts he had stolen from the Sh’kilian guard’s mind and what he recalled from Skask’s computer. Later, when they were on board the ship to Coruscant, they would have to go through all of the evidence, piece by piece. He swallowed, sitting cross-legged on the trampled long grass he had slept on feeling the ghosts of slaves crowding around him, the pressure of time weighing on him, knowing that they had only this one chance to appeal to the Senate, to change the course of the galaxy.

They worked without pause for hours until Qui-Gon quietly suggested they eat some of the rations that the older man had gathered from the destroyed ships. They ate without conversation, both still distracted by the amount of work left to do. The taste of food turned Obi-Wan’s stomach but he continued eating what Qui-Gon gave him, willing himself to recognize flavor and acknowledge the hunger that had been worrying at him for a long time.

Virmu remained distant from them, eating in silence, slipping often into meditation. She did not seem to know how to find a sort of balance with the camaraderie between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and she watched them often with open disapproval. Obi-Wan was less bothered by her scrutiny than Qui-Gon. He had lived with Virmu for years, he understood that she was examining both of them, unable to comprehend how they could have chosen to go against the Code so absolutely. As her padawan, Obi-Wan had learned how to gauge Virmu’s moods and expressions, unable to depend on signs from the Force to what she was feeling. He knew her preference for information to be catalogued and arranged neatly, her interest in rules and order, just as he knew she was aware that her accusations were neither true nor false but settled somewhere in the middle, the ambiguity of it all confounding her.

* * *

Tukahla Xinx arrived in late afternoon, an hour before sunset. Obi-Wan heard the slight vibrating echo of a ship approaching minutes before it appeared. He stilled in the middle of his calculations about the different mines on Sh’Tar’va, Qui-Gon pausing from where he had been crouched next to Obi-Wan verifying the younger man’s equations and correcting small mathematical errors. They both stood slowly, watching the sky as the sound grew louder. Birds scattered in a huge swarm of bright colored wings and cries at the increasing noise, Virmu roused from her meditation. Obi-Wan backed up, unsure of the wisdom of remaining in the clearing until they could properly identify the ship.

The roar of engines grew louder, a small battered spacecraft suddenly appearing in the clouded sky, hovering high above the treetops. The stamp of the Judicial Department on the side of the ship was peeling but visible. The exterior paint had once been red but had faded to an odd purple tone, most of the finishing scraped off. The ship circled the area, moving somewhat sluggishly, its blocky shape verifying it as an extremely outdated Stens-TG18 craft.

Dull sunlight shone off the exposed chrome, the remaining birds that had braved the noise took flight as the ship dipped down toward the clearing, its engines cutting off as it landed neatly. Obi-Wan stood still in his gray flightsuit, his lightsaber clipped to his belt, Qui-Gon by his side and Virmu a few yards away, watching the ship’s ramp lower. Tukahla Xinx walked down the ramp before it had fully touched the ground, jumping the last foot.

Obi-Wan was not familiar with the Jedi, but saw that she was a few years older than he was, most likely newly knighted. Her skin was a light golden brown, her sleek black hair chin-length on one side and shoulder length on the other, the asymmetrical style complimenting her round face and petite build. She strode with purpose to them, Jedi robes shifting in the slight breeze, bowing to Virmu and then to Qui-Gon.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Qui-Gon said, bowing as well.

Tukahla gave a small smile.

“Beats your landing, by the looks of it, Master Jinn,” she responded cheerfully, a strong Core Worlds accent merging with a more subtle Coruscant diction.

Obi-Wan tilted his head, amused despite himself at her lack of formality. She was nearly a head smaller than him, but strong, helping grab their few supplies, talking as they walked back to the craft she had flown.

“You must have really wanted to sightsee, this is quite far from Republic borders.”

She directed the comment toward Obi-Wan who felt slightly surprised, he was still used to being ignored by other Jedi. He dipped his head in a short nod.

“There were unexpected happenings,” he finally answered and Tukahla snorted, slanted dark eyes scrutinizing his civilian clothing and bruised face.

“I bet,” she said, glancing toward the wreckage in the lake as she hauled the largest bag containing their supplies into the ship.

The inside of the small ship was as battered as the outside, but durable. Obi-Wan doubted that it had much for weaponry, but it was clear the ship had powerful shields if it could withstand the damage it apparently had taken at one time or another. It was cold inside, the humidity of Sh’Tar’va’s moon unable to combat the ship regulated temperature for space travel. They followed Tukahla into a cockpit crammed with five spare seats and an obsolete console. The cockpit was small and Obi-Wan deliberately crushed his unease at being in a closed area with so many people. Qui-Gon’s hand rested briefly on his shoulder, the bond comforting and Obi-Wan relaxed slightly, sitting down behind the pilot’s seat.

“The Council is eager to get you back as soon as possible, but four days is about as fast as I can go in this bucket,” Tukahla informed them as they strapped in, “Could maybe get three but I’d have to reroute internal velocity; it’s shot from outrunning raiders on Dava-Sor.”

Obi-Wan frowned, pausing from where he was strapping in, four days was unacceptable. He could not leave the situation on Sh’Tar’va unresolved for that long. Automatically, he considered the technical limitations of the outdated cockpit.

“Could you increase the velocity through the engine calibrator?” he asked and Tukahla turned in the pilot’s seat to look at him, finely arched brows raised,

“I could…” she said slowly, “But I’d have to get the computer to think that there was an extra engine in order for it to override safety protocol.”

Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon, not needing their bond to decipher Qui-Gon’s small smile. Within minutes Qui-Gon had reprogrammed the computer and Tukahla was flipping the engines on, nodding in satisfaction at the computer readout.

“Looks like it worked. Atmosphere break in two minutes.”

They lifted off the ground, the dry tall grass blowing around them, then tree branches. Obi-Wan looked through the cockpit window, watching as what was left of the _Zar Ka_ and the Trevsin ship grew smaller. His gaze moved to the expanding gray sky, the faint shape of Sh’Tar’va visible for a second. He closed his eyes, feeling suddenly ill at the sharp memory of the salt mine, the brutal fight for survival that every day had been. Even with increased speed, it would still take three days to return to Coruscant, by then he would be far away from Sh’Tar’va, trapped with discussing the matter with the Senate and the Council instead of being back out there, fighting to free the mine. The thought gave Obi-Wan pause, before, he had wanted only to find Virmu, to reunite with Qui-Gon and attempt to find some way of returning to his former life as Virmu’s padawan, but that possibility was gone, no longer sought after. It was not enough, his old life, even the life of a Jedi seemed limiting considering how much still needed to be done to destroy slavery.

It was in that moment, as they broke the thick atmosphere of Sh’Tar’va’s moon, that Obi-Wan realized that he had never thought that he might have a choice in his own future. He had never had the luxury to imagine something more than what the Jedi had planned out for him. And now, faced with the concept that he was in control of his own fate, he had no idea what he wanted, except to be with Qui-Gon.

As the ship broke the gravitational pull of the planet completely, they were all jerked against their shoulder straps before the auto-gravity sensors kicked in. The ship’s computer beeped and Tukahla flipped several switches along the console to confirm ship protocol before setting in coordinates for Coruscant. Now able to move freely, Qui-Gon left to collect their things and Obi-Wan followed, hoping to find a spare computer to organize the information that they had both gathered.

In the corridor he paused near Virmu who was examining a holomap of the ship’s interior. The rusted metal flooring of the ship was cold beneath Obi-Wan’s bare feet as he stopped and studied the map. The yellowed lights of the ship’s corridor made Virmu’s gold eyes look brighter and reptilian when she turned toward him.

“Master Jinn informed me that you were on Sh’Tar’va for a number of days before finding me.”

Obi-Wan met her gaze calmly, unprepared for how his stomach lurched, the frantic worry for the slaves in the salt mine rising at the thought of Sh’Tar’va. He locked hands behind his back, keeping his expression blank. He was determined not to reveal how much enslavement had affected him, knowing she would only confirm his choices on Sh’Tar’va as evidence that he had been influenced by the Dark Side.

“Yes.”

Virmu’s mouth tightened, her brow furrowing. The ridges along her scalp pulsed, her own flat expression unable to completely hide her agitation.

“I suppose you remember everything now,” she stated.

Obi-Wan looked at her, this woman who had been his teacher for so long. He did not feel as if she had raised him, but there was no denying the fact that she had been the only constant in his life for many years.

“Did you think I didn’t know?” he asked softly.

Virmu glanced away, her clawed hands twitching at her sides. She inhaled, revealing a glimpse of sharp teeth before her mouth returned to its thin line.

“You were not supposed to dwell on the past. Your mind is too unstable to deal with those events –”

Perhaps it was concern, that made her so critical but Obi-Wan found he was tired of trying to explain her reasons.

“I don’t believe that’s true,” he objected quietly.

Virmu stared at him, crossing her slender arms. Besides still wearing the white robe from the Duro Medcenter, she looked no different from their time at the Duro Starshipwright Shipyard, it was as if the days on Sh’Tar’va had not happened for her. Only her mentioning his past acknowledged that anything had happened at all.

“The fact that you now have a bond with Master Jinn makes it clear that you cannot control,” she snapped suddenly and Obi-Wan automatically tightened his mental defenses around the bond, sensing Qui-Gon’s confusion but not having time to explain his instinctive need to shield.

He lifted his jaw, regarding her stonily.

“It’s not a matter of control,” he replied, voice harsh, “You do not know my mind, you avoid it because it frightens you.”

His blunt honesty was unexpected and she stepped back, watching him, almost glaring.

“Your defiance is ill-placed,” she hissed, her tone a warning that he had seldom disobeyed.

Obi-Wan tilted his head, feeling entirely removed from her and the restrictive laws of the Jedi. His thoughts were with Qui-Gon and the slaves on Sh’Tar’va, there was no time to dwell on her disapproval.

“My defiance is what keeps me alive. The bond is a matter between Qui-Gon and myself,” he informed her, cold resolve evident in every controlled syllable.

Virmu’s glare sharpened, her tight shields slipping so that he glimpsed her Force presence for a moment, angered and powerless.

“The Council will not agree,” she snapped.

Obi-Wan turned away, moving past her to where he could sense Qui-Gon waiting for him in a room further down the corridor.

“I am aware.”

When he entered the small room that Qui-Gon was in, the tall man stood, approaching Obi-Wan, brow creased in concern. Obi-Wan released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, allowing his shields to fall, tucking his head briefly against Qui-Gon’s neck as they embraced. Qui-Gon’s body surrounding his seemed both familiar and not, and Obi-Wan realized how little time they had really had alone. It was exceedingly difficult to push aside the need to close his eyes and linger in the man’s arms. They had work to do.

Qui-Gon stepped back and Obi-Wan walked over to the table that Qui-Gon had been sitting at. The room was a small rec area, but contained very little besides a computer and a console most likely used for basic piloting training. They sat near one another, Obi-Wan watching as Qui-Gon wired the information drive from the _Zar Ka_ into the computer, the older man’s large hands moving with careful precision. There were some incompatibility issues, the Judicial Department ship was much older, but with reprogramming Qui-Gon was able to access the information. Obi-Wan pulled a separate screen open from the cycling holoscreen, focusing on the scans Qui-Gon had run of Sh’Tar’va. The majority of Qui-Gon’s notes were taken in a particular code that most Jedi had stopped using ten years ago, Obi-Wan shook his head, letting Qui-Gon translate the notes while he looked over charts and figures.

“The harvest gears must be automated,” Qui-Gon muttered while typing, “Even if the Sh’kil avoid technology, there is no way they would have the manpower to operate that many by themselves.”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“It’s likely that’s the case, which causes a problem for the slaves. If they don’t take over the harvest-gear automations, they will starve within a matter of weeks. If they do seize control it will warn the Sh’kil at other camps that the slaves have taken over a mine, either way they risk death.”

He bit his lip hard. It was entirely possible that the slaves’ resistance had been successful and that the Sh’kil were unaware. The camps appeared to have little communication with one another and Skausk most likely had not considered the rebellion a large enough threat to the mine to inform others. But there was the chance that he had and that more Sh’kilian guards had arrived and crushed the resistance. Panic uncoiled inside him, his heartrate increasing, hands automatically tightening on their grip on the table. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Qui-Gon hesitate before the man reached over and abruptly closed the screens. Obi-Wan looked at him, feeling Qui-Gon’s apprehension and concern move through their bond.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon asked softly, “What happened when you were there?”

Obi-Wan turned away, staring at the wall opposite of them, his heart pounding as he remembered the freezing water, the stench, the feel of salt burning his skin, Mem’vokla’s and Cage’s determination as slaves and guards fell around them. He knew Qui-Gon must have seen his thoughts as well, because the man rested his hand on top of Obi-Wan’s scarred fingers, not saying anything, waiting. Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly, fighting back the panic that crawled through his veins.

“I crashed in the Lower Ocean,” he began, “The pod had been shot off course. It fell apart in the water. I swam to shore and walked to the mine.”

The sentences were short, choppy as his mind flashed through different memories. He paused, swallowing, his lungs suddenly tight.

“It was cold, in the mine. I followed a guard to the lower levels, where the mining took place. I – I attempted to blend in with the slaves. Cage – she knew immediately that I was not one of them but she looked out for me, in her own way.”

Obi-Wan knew he was not explaining everything fully, but he found he could not go into detail. His mind was swamped with memories and it took everything he had not to raise his shields and protect Qui-Gon from the confusing sights and sounds that he knew were streaming swiftly through the bond.

“We worked for hours before we could return to the camp. There was water there, but little food. People fought over the water. The salt…I was so thirsty, all of the time. Cage and Mem’vokla were slaves who helped me escape and find Skausk, the mine leader. I knew he could tell me where Virmu was, I knew it was my only way out.”

He could hear the ragged edge to his voice, the exhaustion and the fear that still pulled at him whenever he thought of what had happened. Underneath the panic and discord there was something else, a sense of purpose that pushed him to continue speaking, words tumbling from him now.

“I tried to go back, to help them, but Cage and Mem’vokla…they knew I had only a limited time to find Virmu. They and the other slaves were still fighting off the Sh’kil and Trevsins when I left. I…they could all be dead.”

He stopped, unable to speak further.

It was unbearable to think about the look in Cage’s brown eyes when they had planned out their resistance, the way Mem’vokla had almost smiled, the solidarity between them. Had he betrayed them? Abandoning them to execution for an unrealized dream of freedom?

“No,” Qui-Gon said softly, answering Obi-Wan’s unspoken question, “They made the choice to save you, as you made the choice to save them. They did what they felt was right.”

Hearing Qui-Gon unknowingly echo Cage’s words, _you do what you have to, we all do,_ made Obi-Wan raise his head and take an unsteady breath. He reached over, reopening the holoscreens, ignoring the way his scarred hands trembled. The memories were still coming, but he found he could block them with Qui-Gon’s help, the thoughts painful but not incapacitating. That rising sense of purpose eclipsed his fear of the past and Obi-Wan took another, calmer breath, his voice returned to his normal quiet tone.

“I need everything you have on Sh’Tar’va and anything you can think of about the slave trade.”

Qui-Gon watched him for a long moment then nodded, sliding his files over to Obi-Wan’s screen. Obi-Wan unclipped his lightsaber, turning it over and unscrewing the reserve cap. He pulled a receptor cable from the computer and hooked it into the built in receptors in the reserve cap, downloading the information onto both screens. Qui-Gon blinked but said nothing as Obi-Wan detached the cable and twisted the saber’s reserve cap back on, he pulled the holoscreen closer to him and began to work.

They worked for hours, Obi-Wan feeling his still healing body began to ache, a tightness in his muscles warning him of pain that both him and Virmu had ignored when attempting to heal his more serious injuries. It reminded him of the salt mine, the aching rush to keep working, the overwhelming fear of giving in and showing pain. His eyes stung from staring at the screens, deciphering Qui-Gon’s coded notes and Skausk’s records. The Sh’kil spoke and wrote Basic, but their form of writing lacked clear syntax so that most sentences ended with a verb. Obi-Wan reworked the data unto a new screen that held the information that would eventually become their testimony to the Senate and Council. Qui-Gon worked at his side, calculating out what they had only rough estimates of.

They were left alone for long hours, the humming of the ship’s engines unchanging so that Obi-Wan had no idea if it was night or day. In space, it hardly mattered. Tukahla stopped in twice with reheated food from the pantry but thankfully didn’t linger or ask questions. Obi-Wan wondered briefly if she had guessed that the relationship between Qui-Gon and himself was beyond that of Jedi friendship. They hadn’t bothered to shield the bond, any Jedi open to the Force would notice it, though perhaps not be able to comprehend it as anything other than a master and apprentice bond. He was unconcerned if she came to her own conclusions or if Virmu informed her of what had happened. He would face the consequences for their bond when there were not more immediate matters to consider.

The information regarding things not related to the slaves was mostly discarded. Skausk’s records were incriminating enough and they worked largely from that, occasionally adding in the evidence Qui-Gon had gathered in Sh’Tar’va’s orbit. They worked with quiet efficiency, the bond preventing the need to discuss what data to include and what to keep out of their testimony.

They had a silent disagreement, while they ate, regarding when to inform the Senate that the majority of their evidence took place on a planet outside Republic borders. Obi-Wan was reluctant to mislead the Senate by omitting information while Qui-Gon was more in favor of not mentioning Sh’Tar’va’s location at all. The nonverbal argument was ultimately a distraction from their work and they agreed through the bond that the Trevsins would be the first matter they discussed with the Senate, as the Trevsins had been trafficking in the Core Worlds and had kidnapped Virmu while at the Duro Starshipwright Shipyard.

Obi-Wan looked up sometime later from where he was retyping Skausk’s information on the Sh’kil-Trevsin trade system, merging it with the years of research he had compiled on slavery throughout the Republic. The pieces were coming together, building a map that stretched from the very outreaches of the Outer Rim, into the heart of the Republic. The sheer amount of reported slavery was staggering. Exotic clubs on expensive retreat planets, unpaid labor on agricultural worlds, spice dens at criminal hideouts. There were slaves everywhere, captured, sold, resold, used until they died. The economic gains of the slave industry were enough for the majority of civilizations to turn a blind eye to the cruelty of owning and selling sentient beings.

Obi-Wan stared at the financial records that Skausk had had in his data. Qui-Gon had checked the figures and confirmed them. Just the one salt mine made billions of credits annually, the value of salt far outstripping the value of slaves when sold to planets with a limited supply of halite minerals. Obi-Wan recalled the phantom sting of salt dust on open wounds, the thick odor of it in the air, mixed always with the smell of death. He felt suddenly immensely thirsty and tired. Qui-Gon sat back from staring at rows of equations, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes wearily.

“This goes deeper than what I anticipated. Several of the planets that buy from the Sh’kil have representatives in the Senate,” he mentioned quietly.

Obi-Wan tilted his head, feeling the weight of his limbs, the slow heaviness of fatigue crushing the will to keep working.

“Do you think they will attempt to fight it in the courts?” he asked tiredly, Qui-Gon sighed, sitting forward and saving their data carefully before closing down his screen.

“I don’t know. I’ve only spoken before the Senate once, in a mission involving a senator. The fact that we have documentation linked to multiple political figures and that we are disobeying Temple protocol to speak directly to the Senate should be enough to ensure that change will happen,” Qui-Gon said, exhaustion evident in his voice.

Obi-Wan glanced away.

“What if it is not?” he asked.

Qui-Gon tilted his head, pushing his long graying hair back away from his face.

“We have enough evidence. They cannot ignore it,” he reassured, but his voice and the bond showed his own unease.

Obi-Wan shook his head. He stared at the information they still had open on different screens, the blue glow of the holoscreens shining in the dimly lit room. He would never forget what it was like to be a slave, mining for minerals as a child and then mining for salt as an adult, the difference and the similarities, the loss of purpose and dignity, the complete oblivion of death and darkness.

“In the mine,” he said softly, unsure of what he was even going to say, “if you can no longer work, they shoot you. They make the others watch. When you die, or cannot get back up they cremate you. The boilers are what heat the mine. It is so awful, so efficient, so _Sh’kilian_.”

His mouth twisted on the last word, tasting its poison. He felt Qui-Gon’s horror meet his own, and he looked up, into dark blue eyes that did not shy away from his suffering.

“If the Senate responds too late…Every day thousands die enslaved, I cannot allow that to continue.” Obi-Wan swallowed, his voice strengthening into a declaration, “I won’t wait for more to die.”

He felt Qui-Gon’s hand close over his own again, callused fingertips smoothing over Obi-Wan’s scarred and bruised knuckles, the bond alive with resolution born from shared pain.

“I would never expect you to.”

* * *

There was still information that had to be cataloged and translated, organized into the data they would present to the Senate, but their exhaustion was strong enough that reluctantly Obi-Wan gave up working, gathering the information and following Qui-Gon down the hall. The ship was quiet, most likely Tukahla was in the cockpit, or asleep, the ship running on autopilot. He did not know where Virmu was but guessed she was meditating.

The ship was equipped with several small cabins. The one they entered was bare except for a dresser and two beds bolted into the wall, one stacked above the other. They did not speak, Obi-Wan setting their information on top of the dresser before following Qui-Gon into the bathroom connected to the cabin. It was small, but the shower system workable, he reached for the fasteners along his flightsuit but Qui-Gon’s hands lightly pushed his aside, stepping closer and unhooking the clasps along the gray flight suit. Obi-Wan stood patiently, shivering slightly at the brush of Qui-Gon’s thumb against his stomach as the man undid the last clasp.

Obi-Wan peeled his flightsuit off, then underwear, stepping to the side to turn the shower on. Qui-Gon paused in the middle of undressing and Obi-Wan saw in the mirrored wall opposite them that Qui-Gon had noticed the whiplashes along Obi-Wan’s back, the marks still dark against the skin, merging with the ones from childhood. He stilled, feeling Qui-Gon’s hand touch his shoulder, move down the visible vertebrae of his spine. Qui-Gon’s touch was careful against the smooth muscle of the younger man’s back as he brushed the pad of a finger over the lash marks, his mouth tight with emotion, the bond flooding with his anger and distress at Obi-Wan’s injuries. Obi-Wan turned, slowly stripping Qui-Gon’s tunic off, mindful of the man’s still sensitive ribs.

Obi-Wan stood in Qui-Gon’s embrace and took solace in the warm comfort of the man’s skin, their naked bodies touching. Tiredly, he examined bruises already fading along the man’s broader chest and flat stomach. The hiss of water spraying against the shower wall was peaceful and he felt that he could fall asleep now, with only Qui-Gon to support him. Gently, Qui-Gon nudged him into the shower, stepping in as well. The area was quite small with both of them inside, the sliding glass door obscured with steam. Obi-Wan was surprised to find he did not feel the unsettling dread he associated with enclosed spaces.

There were three showerheads above them, projecting bursts of water so that they were soaked in seconds. Obi-Wan tilted his head, feeling water cascade down his face and neck, flattening his hair, getting into his eyes so that he blinked, offering Qui-Gon a small smile. Qui-Gon smiled back, bending to kiss him lightly before turning Obi-Wan by the shoulders.

The water was warm, Obi-Wan closing his eyes as he felt it slide over his body, his sore muscles welcomed the soothing heat, even if it stung the still healing cuts along his back. Qui-Gon’s hands slid along his shoulder blades, before reaching for soap. There was something both relaxing and vulnerable about being washed by someone, Qui-Gon’s touch was deliberately comforting, the bond filled with his need to care for Obi-Wan. Soap trailed down their skin, bruises were sought out and carefully stroked, Obi-Wan turned to lean into the warmth of the older man’s larger frame. Qui-Gon’s arm went around him. Water beaded on them, Qui-Gon’s wet hair clinging to his neck and shoulders, his beard dripping water, his eyelashes trembling at the spray.

Obi-Wan could feel the man’s contentment and exhaustion and rested his palm against the man’s ribs lightly before guiding Qui-Gon to kneel so that Obi-Wan could wash the man’s hair. He wasn’t sure what to do with long hair, the feel of its wet weight in his hands was appealing though and Obi-Wan approached the concept methodically, feeling through the bond that Qui-Gon was surprised at the gesture, but pleased. The water fell heavily enough that the soap was easy to rinse from the man’s thick hair. Obi-Wan combed carefully through it with his fingers, stopping to untangle a knot occasionally, Qui-Gon’s hair a much darker gray-brown when wet. He stepped back and Qui-Gon stood, maneuvering Obi-Wan more directly under one of the showerheads, washing Obi-Wan’s hair with the same dedication, the process quicker as Obi-Wan’s hair was shorter. A hand ran through Obi-Wan’s hair, rinsing the last of the soap out, a motion both tender and firm and it became instinctive to close the distance between them, mouths meeting under the pouring spray, Obi-Wan tasting the nothingness of water and the salty-sweetness of Qui-Gon’s skin.

Exhaustion gathered at the edges of their touches and Qui-Gon understood, the man still holding him, breaking away only to shut the water off and lead Obi-Wan out of the shower. They stood dripping in the bathroom, Obi-Wan locating towels on a shelf against the wall. They dried off quickly, the steamed heat of the room disappearing as fans turned on, clearing the moisture, sending a cold breeze over Obi-Wan’s body. Already he had adapted to the humid warmth of Sh’Tar’va’s moon, to be in the coldness of space was difficult to readjust to.

The beds in the cabin were narrow but they both climbed into the bottom one, Qui-Gon settling against the metal wall, pulling light gray blankets over their naked bodies. They lay on the bed on their sides, facing each other but not quite touching. Obi-Wan gazed into Qui-Gon’s eyes, feeling a deep weariness settle over him. So much had happened since they had met, so much darkness and light intermingled. He could trace the marks of the last few days on Qui-Gon’s body, the healed ribs, the light bruises, the shine in Qui-Gon’s eyes as Qui-Gon looked at him, the man’s wet hair falling around his face, dripping water on the sheets.

They watched each other, not saying anything, acknowledging the open warmth of the bond, the need for sleep and comfort. That dull ache in Obi-Wan’s muscles had receded slightly from the heat of the water and Qui-Gon’s nearby presence. The tension from earlier in the day had blurred into tiredness and he felt calm, the bed soft beneath them, an extra blanket pulled over Obi-Wan so that he could ignore the slight chill of traveling in space. He watched Qui-Gon’s face and knew there was something on the man’s mind. Obi-Wan could sense the older man’s worry, the slight furrow in his brow, an indicator that he was still unsure about something.

“What is it?” he asked quietly, and Qui-Gon shifted his head slightly on the pillows, looking away.

“After we speak to the Senate, we must return to the Temple. Virmu will have had time to inform the Council about what events she is aware of.”

Obi-Wan nodded, sensing there was more that Qui-Gon wanted to say. The bond felt oddly opaque, Qui-Gon tilted his head down, fingers tracing the slight wrinkles in the sheet beneath them, his posture radiating uncertainty,

“The Council…they will not approve of our relationship,” Qui-Gon murmured, frowning, “We are both Jedi, our feelings for one another go against the Law of Attachments. Even if you are knighted, we will be kept apart.”

The words now spoken were like a blade slicing through Obi-Wan. He had known that the Council would not approve, but since Qui-Gon and him had made the decision to be together they had deflected that thought and focused on other matters, Virmu’s capture, the Sh’kil, Sh’Tar’va’s moon. Now they had to discuss it, Obi-Wan finally ready to face the knowledge that his life, always so tied to the Jedi, could not be complete without that which was forbidden. He reached out, touching Qui-Gon’s jaw, feeling the texture of the man’s damp beard as he tilted Qui-Gon’s face so the man would look at him.

“We will not be separated,” Obi-Wan promised.

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to speak and Obi-Wan shook his head, his voice became sterner, needing Qui-Gon to understand.

“I will not let them. I love you. You are worth more to me than their laws.”

Qui-Gon studied him.

“More than the Jedi?” he questioned bluntly and Obi-Wan sensed in him the need for honesty above everything else.

Obi-Wan kept his eyes on Qui-Gon.

“You ask that, as if you do not know the answer,” he whispered and Qui-Gon’s eyes closed briefly before he returned to gazing at Obi-Wan intently.

“I have served the light for many years, Obi-Wan. I can leave and not regret it, but you have not yet experienced the life of a knight, or a master, I cannot deprive you of that,” he stated resolutely.

Obi-Wan frowned, moving his hand so that it rested against the side of Qui-Gon’s neck, feeling the man’s racing pulse beneath his fingertips. It was a marked contrast to the calmness of Qui-Gon’s features and the man’s willingness to let him go rather than prevent him from having a future as a Jedi Knight. The bond remained unclear between them and Obi-Wan felt a painful sort of terror twist inside him at the thought of being parted from Qui-Gon, the bond blocked, or destroyed. He would go with it, he understood that on some unknown level, if the bond was ripped away from both of them without their consent. He watched Qui-Gon, the few inches between them feeling like much more as he contemplated forever apart. When he spoke it was with a soft intensity, his greenish eyes unable to look away from the face of the man he loved more than anything.

“I have never been allowed to interact with other Jedi, Virmu and to some extent, the Council always maintained that I was dangerous for others to be around. I am grateful to the Jedi for the abilities I have learned but they cannot give me the happiness I have known with you, even considering everything we have undergone. I will not allow them to break our bond, not unless that is what you wish.”

Qui-Gon’s body relaxed, a sigh leaving him, his hand rose to touch Obi-Wan’s.

“You are a part of me Obi-Wan, I wish only to stay with you,” the older man whispered with quiet finality.

Obi-Wan looked at him, studying the man’s features, the dark blue eyes, the crooked nose, the high cheekbones and thinner lips. He felt warmth rise in his stomach, a sudden nervousness beneath his skin as he thought of how far they had come, how much further they were willing to go to be with one another.

“Qui-Gon, I have something I must ask you,” he spoke unsteadily, his throat unexpectedly tight.

Qui-Gon tilted his head slightly, his focus on Obi-Wan intensifying, he nodded. Obi-Wan inhaled, his hand trembling beneath Qui-Gon’s,

“I do not know what the future holds for either one of us,” he said, keeping his eyes on Qui-Gon, stumbling uncharacteristically over words, “I-I know it will be difficult at times, maybe impossible. But if it is possible to live our lives like this, together, than regardless of what the Council decides about our bond, would you –” he broke off, unable to continue speaking as Qui-Gon’s eyes widened, the man’s grasp on his hand tightening.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon said instantly.

They stared at one another, Obi-Wan feeling the tension inside him suddenly leave, but the breathlessness remained and with it a rising emotion he could not at first understand. It wasn’t until Qui-Gon closed the distance between them, kissing him deeply that Obi-Wan knew the feeling as a happiness so powerful it was beyond words or thought as Qui-Gon pulled back.

“Yes,” the man repeated as a whisper against Obi-Wan’s lips.

The bond was overflowing with such a sense of promise and love that Obi-Wan felt the tightness in his throat return, his eyes almost stinging, the happiness building. Qui-Gon looked at him, half on top of him now, his strong arms sliding around Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His head fell back against the pillows, the rising happiness surging through him, so that it came out in a sound of joy, a laugh that he had never before given voice to.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh yeah, so Obi-Wan just proposed. It wasn’t in my outline to have that happen, but I really felt that it worked, considering where Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon are. 
> 
> A huge part of what makes Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon’s relationship work is consent, not just in the traditional sense but in other ways. It’s super romantic to have the ‘I’ll follow you anywhere’ type of relationship, but its important to point out the realities. In some relationships, people CAN’T share the same dream and no one should expect someone to be their constant support without at first making sure that is what the person wants. Qui-Gon holds back because he knew from pretty much the moment he realized he loved Obi-Wan that that was who he was going to be with forever and that he’d give up the Jedi to be with Obi-Wan. But he knew Obi-Wan wasn’t ready to consider all of that in the beginning, and that it’s not fair to say, “I’m willing to do xyz, so you should too.” but, I do try to make it clear that Obi-Wan realized on Sh’Tar’va and afterward, that he cares more about Qui-Gon than following the Code. I mean, it was pretty obvious that these two would want to be together forever, but its still an important conversation for them to have. 
> 
> And also, how sad is it that Obi-Wan has never laughed before?
> 
> I FORGOT TO TELL YOU SOONER, MY SISTER DID SOME MORE CHAPTER ART AND IT IS BEAUTIFUL!! IT’S UP FOR CHAPTER 11 AND 12, SO SCROLL BACK AND DROOL AT IT BECAUSE CHAPTER 11 IS THE MOST WONDERFUL PICTURE OF OBI-WAN I HAVE EVER SEEN. Ahem, ok, I may be bias, but it seriously is gorgeous. 
> 
> Tukahla Xinx’s name is pronounced Too-ka-la Z-inks, so pretty close to how it looks. I don’t really know what her accent would sound like, but I was thinking Australian would be the closest. 
> 
> Also, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan doing math together is so cute, Virmu is blind to their adorkableness. 
> 
> Sooo…only two chapters left, and judging from all that I have to cover, the next chapter is going to be really long, but I know no one will mind that :) it may take a bit longer to write as well, but i'm still hoping for a two week update.
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter, comments feed my soul. :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So sorry again about the long wait for an update. It’s been crazy busy the last few weeks. My mom’s been having some health issues so I’ve been helping her out a lot and it’s kinda cut into my writing time. Also, this chapter was enormous…like this is the longest chapter I’ve ever written before. Anyway, just a heads up, THIS CHAPTER DOES HAVE SEXUAL CONTENT. 
> 
> Seriously, you didn’t think that was only going to happen once in this fic, did you? ;) 
> 
> For those of you who aren’t too keen on reading anything sexual, I totally understand. The scene is at the end of the chapter after you see the fifth ‘* * *’, so you can read up that point and stop reading there if you’re not comfortable. However, I did do my best to write the scene well so for those who do read it, let me know what you think :) Qui-Gon’s pov.
> 
> As you can probably tell, this chapter is the second to the last one *tears *, so I am almost done with this fic. The final chapter I will have up on July 27, which will be one year from when I first started the fic. :)
> 
> Also, just in case anyone missed it, I did write a short obi/qui fic called In Shadows, if you want to check it out here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/7293136

It took three and a half days to return to Coruscant. In that time Qui-Gon was completely absorbed in gathering and arranging information for their testimony to the Senate. He was amazed at the amount of data that Obi-Wan had collected over the years. Often he would look up from the computer and see Obi-Wan typing feverishly on another holoscreen. They took breaks only for what was necessary. The only relief was at night when they fell into each other’s arms, too exhausted to stay awake any longer.

Qui-Gon felt himself smile, pausing in his typing as he thought of Obi-Wan’s words to him that first night they shared the same narrow bed, their naked limbs wrapped around one another, tasting Obi-Wan’s mouth, seeing the younger man laugh, the bright unfamiliar sound of it resonating in the bond. The joy still remained, seeping into him at moments of quietness among their frantic work. He knew what Obi-Wan had asked him would never be allowed by the Council but that hardly mattered, they had one another and the promise of something more than what they had once been.

The bond was alive with a flurry of words and thoughts, data endlessly transmitted even when they were not in the same room. At times, Qui-Gon had woken in the night to find Obi-Wan sitting on the edge of the bed typing notes into a datapad. Everything had to be prepared for the Galactic Senate, leads checked and rechecked, information updated. Obi-Wan had spent nearly half his lifetime researching the slave trade and Qui-Gon’s decades as a Jedi knight had given him plenty of illegal activity to report. The three and half days passed much too quickly and too slowly.

Obi-Wan’s mind was always partially focused on Sh’Tar’va, compiling their evidence, writing his own testimony of being twice enslaved. The tension that both Jedi operated under did not go unnoticed by Virmu or Tukahla. Virmu kept to herself, steadfastly ignoring them, choosing to speak only of mission particulars if they had to speak to her. Tukahla also remained distant but Qui-Gon sensed her curiosity at their single-minded work.

When they reached Coruscant, it was during the planet’s night cycle. The rush of traffic and buildings were bright moving lights and Qui-Gon blinked, trying to adjust to the sheer amount of ships entering and exiting Coruscant’s orbit as he looked out through the rec area’s window. Obi-Wan walked to his side, the younger man wearing his gray flightsuit, his lightsaber clipped to his belt, dark shadows under his eyes. The majority of bruising on Obi-Wan’s face had faded, leaving behind only the purplish fingermarks along his throat. They stood still, Tukahla announcing their entrance into the atmosphere. Instinctively, they both braced themselves as the outdated ship rocked slightly when they joined the flow of traffic breaking through Coruscant’s clouds, an endless city stretching out beneath them.

Tukahla had arranged their entrance so they were nearer the upper district, the rising spires of the Temple visible from where they were, lit from the lights of other buildings. Qui-Gon swallowed, not ready to meet with the Council and to have their bond exposed for other Jedi’s perusal.

His gaze moved to the oval-shaped building nearby that housed the Senate. An emergency session would be called in once they arrived. Even if half the delegates did not show, there would still be hundreds that that they would speak before. He glanced sideways at Obi-Wan who stood near him, expression stoic. The ship’s air circulators lightly ruffled the younger man’s auburn hair, damp from a recent shower. Impulsively, Qui-Gon placed a hand on Obi-Wan’s back, careful of touching the still tender areas where the man had been whipped. He slid his arm around Obi-Wan’s waist and after a moment’s pause Obi-Wan did the same. The presence of Obi-Wan calmed the edge of nervousness that Qui-Gon felt, knowing how little time they had to testify. The ship rattled again and Tukahla’s voice came over the intercom calmly.

“Approaching landing pad in two minutes.”

The lights from rushing traffic soon erased the dark blue-black of Coruscant’s sky, reflecting off the chrome buildings. Qui-Gon turned, resting his cheek momentarily against the top of Obi-Wan’s head before breaking away to return to the table they had been working at. Tukahla had provided them with working comlinks and Qui-Gon used his to contact the chancellor’s administration, his rank of Jedi Master securing him direct contact to Chancellor Valorum’s office.

Valorum’s aide was not pleased about Qui-Gon’s quiet insistence on scheduling a Senate session immediately. When Qui-Gon asked to speak to Valorum directly, it took even longer for the aide to allow him to. He patiently repeated his request until Valorum’s aide finally contacted the chancellor. He repressed his irritation as well as a small smile as he felt Obi-Wan’s similar regard towards politicians through their bond.

“Jedi Master Jinn,” the deep level voice of Valorum came over the line, “I have not been contacted by the Council regarding an emergency session.”

There may have been a note of confusion in the human’s voice, but it was barely decipherable. Valorum had been trained for politics and regardless of a somewhat ineffective rule, he was capable of personifying the image of a calm politician, immovable in his ways.

“The Council is unaware of this, I have chosen to address the Senate before speaking to the Temple,” Qui-Gon responded calmly.

There was a pause before Valorum spoke again, voice guarded.

“This is uncommon.” For a brief second the other man faltered before regrouping, “If you request an emergency session I must first be informed of the matter you are discussing.”

Qui-Gon glanced over at Obi-Wan who had paused in collecting their things, his expression shrewd, the bond and his Force-enhanced sense of hearing clearly understanding the conversation.

“I am discussing slavery, a situation that requires immediate action.”

Though distance and lack of familiarity prevented Qui-Gon from fully sensing Valorum’s thoughts on the matter, he gathered from the lengthy silence that the man was uncomfortable but the chancellor could find no adequate reason to deny Qui-Gon’s demand.

“I will contact delegates for an emergency session within the hour,” Valroum finally responded, clicking off the line before Qui-Gon could speak.

Qui-Gon lowered the comlink.

“He is unsettled,” Obi-Wan said at once and Qui-Gon nodded, feeling the ship weave through traffic and slow, beginning descent to a landing pad.

“It is understandable. Our actions are very unorthodox and calling an emergency session is not an easy task, many senators will resent being pulled from their own interests to return to the Senate chambers.”

Obi-Wan turned, looking out toward the viewport at the traffic flying nearby.

“And yet he did not fight you on the matter.”

Qui-Gon turned his comlink over in his hand.

“He would not be able to. Jedi have the right to call emergency sessions, with or without the Chancellor’s approval. The Force tells me that Valorum is more concerned of the issue we are discussing than that we are not following Temple protocol.”

Qui-Gon reset the alert system on his comlink, blocking any calls from the Temple. He did not want them to try to stop the session from happening.

Obi-Wan tilted his head.

“Because our evidence indicts several planetary systems?” he guessed.

Qui-Gon shrugged.

“Corruption is not new to the chancellor. It is more his fear that he will have to act quickly and decisively, something he is uncomfortable doing.”

It was a fear that Qui-Gon had encountered with many politicians, and Obi-Wan nodded, not surprised. Tukahla’s voice announced their landing right as the ship rocked again, engines rattling. Qui-Gon pulled his cloak on over his tunics. Though the dirt and blood had been mostly cleaned from his Jedi robes, there were several prominent stains and rips visible. He looked over at Obi-Wan. The man’s light gray flightsuit was slightly too large on the shoulders and ribcage. The sleeves were rolled up to Obi-Wans elbows, exposing the slender muscle of the man’s forearms, a look that Qui-Gon found oddly attractive. Though Obi-Wan had been barefoot before, he had found a pair of work boots on board that fit him well enough for the time being.

They landed carefully on a floating landing pad, close enough to the Temple that a shuttle could easily take them there. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were the first to exit the ship, their information safely in hand. The rush of traffic between buildings was always a surprise to adjust to, particularly when landing at night. The sky was a dark blue-black, most stars clouded from sight by pollution. The air was noticeably harder to breathe even as close as they were to the Senate district, where machines regularly cleansed the air of pollutants. It was windy, particularly with how high up the landing platform was. The air was chilly, Qui-Gon tugging his cloak closer.

Qui-Gon glanced over at Obi-Wan. The other man’s brow was furrowed in thought, his arms crossed to try to ward off the cold. Qui-Gon could sense the slight dread Obi-Wan associated with returning to Coruscant and the Temple. He had never before given thought to the matter but now Qui-Gon found himself questioning the hierarchy that existed between the wealthy and the impoverished on Coruscant. He had always been intrigued by the city planet, but sensing Obi-Wan’s thoughts through the bond, he wondered if he had only seen Coruscant from one perspective.

The power of the planet rested in the fact that it was home to the Galactic Senate and the Jedi Temple. There was a hidden vulnerability to Coruscant, with so much land used for building, resources had to come from other planets. Many systems paid their taxes to the Republic through food and supplies. Were the Republic to ever collapse, Coruscant would have no way of surviving.

A slight sound came behind him, Qui-Gon turned, his long loose hair blowing around his face and shoulders as he watched Tukahla and Virmu exit the ship. Tukahla glanced toward the edge of the landing pad, pulling out her comlink.

“The Council wanted to see you as soon as possible,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the noise of the wind and nearby traffic, “I’ll arrange a shuttle, we should reach the Temple fast enough that you’ll be able to get some sleep tonight as well.”

Virmu inclined her head but Qui-Gon glanced toward Obi-Wan.

“That will not be necessary,” he said firmly.

Tukahla paused, looking up at him curiously. The wind current pulled at their clothing as they stood facing one another, Virmu’s eyes narrowing as Qui-Gon spoke,

“Obi-Wan and I will speak to the Senate first. We will contact the Council when the Senate session is over.”

Tukahla’s round face showed surprise and bewilderment before falling into the calm mask of a Jedi. Virmu half-turned abruptly, staring at Qui-Gon shrewdly.

“You cannot contact the Senate without Council approval,” she declared, as she looked twoard Obi-Wan who stared back calmly.

Qui-Gon bit the inside of his cheek to avoid expressing just how little regard he had for Virmu’s opinion. Instead he kept his voice mild, only Obi-Wan sensing his irritation.

“The session is already scheduled.”

Virmu opened her mouth, perhaps to argue or criticize, but closed it instead. She studied them both before stepping toward Obi-Wan.

“Then I will speak to the Council.”

There was no mistaking the warning note in her voice. Qui-Gon had known that they had taken that risk. Choosing to speak to the Senate first meant that Virmu would be able to inform the Council on her own perspective of what had occurred, particularly of the bond between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan clasped hands behind his back, his expression unchanged.

“That is your right,” he said calmly.

Virmu’s golden eyes flashed toward Qui-Gon before she turned away, walking toward the edge of the landing pad. Tukahla lingered for a moment, looking between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. Her dark slanted eyes measured both of them and Qui-Gon knew she must have sensed some part of the bond, must have seen their loyalty to one another as deeper than what would be allowed. She gave a small nod, glancing toward the Senate building in the distance.

“May the Force be with you,” she stated softly before she also walked away, opening her comlink and ordering a transport for her and Virmu.

Qui-Gon stepped aside, waiting as Obi-Wan used his comlink to request a shuttle to the Senate. When the younger man finished the call he turned his comlink off entirely, turning to face Qui-Gon.

“I told you once I wouldn’t bring you into oblivion with me,” he said quietly.

Qui-Gon stared at him with concern.

“You have not.”

Obi-Wan looked toward the other side of the platform where Tukahla and Virmu were now boarding their shuttle, a small bittersweet smile crossing his face.

“Yes, I have.”

Qui-Gon lifted a hand, touching Obi-Wan’s face, the lights from the lit buildings and the ceaseless traffic catching those beloved features, brightness reflecting in Obi-Wan’s large eyes. The cold wind cut through them, Obi-Wan shivering slightly.

“We may never return to the Temple after this,” Obi-Wan said sternly.

Qui-Gon nodded.

“I know,” he replied, words almost lost in the noise of the wind.

Obi-Wan’s expression softened as he sensed Qui-Gon’s acceptance, the ghost of happiness rising briefly in his gaze as images swam through the bond. Their first kiss, their reunion on Sh’Tar’va’s moon, the hope of being alive and together once again.

The roar of engines caused them both to turn. Through the heavy night traffic, a small gray shuttle approached, pulling up alongside the landing pad. Qui-Gon looked back toward the Temple, where Virmu and Tukahla were mostly likely landing now, where Obi-Wan and him would have to go once they were done speaking before the Senate. Obi-Wan moved toward the shuttle, head bowed against the wind and Qui-Gon followed at his side.

* * *

The Senate building looked deceptively ordinary from a distance, oblong and relatively small compared to the tall buildings surrounding it. It had been built thousands of years ago, at a time before the need for opulence. The only signifier that the building was one of galactic importance were the large flags that lined the wide path leading up to it, displaying particular planetary systems or affiliations of the diverse representation of the Senate. The duracrete path was also flanked by statues of elongated humanoids that history claimed were the earliest beings to live on Coruscant, the spears they gripped their only weapon in the dense jungles that Coruscant had once been.

Massive lights hung over the area, brightening it so that it felt almost like midday as Qui-Gon walked down the path leading to the Senate, Obi-Wan’s stride lengthened to keep pace with his own. They moved around the few people meandering down the path, visitors and politicians, aides and journalists. Qui-Gon glanced over at Obi-Wan as they climbed the stairs to the building’s entrance, aware through the bond that Obi-Wan was tired and worried that whatever they did may not be enough.

As they approached the massive doors they were stopped by one of the Senate’s blue robed guards who were verifying identification of anyone entering the building. What was visible of the guard’s face through his visor looked skeptical as he stared at Qui-Gon’s stained and worn clothing and Obi-Wan’s standard flightsuit that looked remarkably similar to the uniform worn by maintenance workers on Coruscant. The guard took Qui-Gon’s identification and ran it through the small data scanner he held, posture straightening suddenly as he handed it back, head bent deferentially.

“My apologies, everything is in order, Master Jedi.”

Qui-Gon nodded, stepping forward.

“Wait,” the guard said, blocking Obi-Wan’s way.

Obi-Wan stopped, regarding the man with a level stare. The guard shifted.

“We can’t let unidentified guests into the chambers, for security reasons.”

Qui-Gon looked over at Obi-Wan. The other Jedi’s identification had been destroyed on the _Zar Ka_ as Obi-Wan had deliberately not brought identification to Sh’Tar’va. Many species chose to have a datachip implanted to verify their identity but such a procedure was too dangerous for Jedi, considering the covert missions they were often given.

“He is with me,” Qui-Gon said but the guard remained where he was.

“I’m afraid he’ll have to have proper identification…” The guard’s voice trailed off as Qui-Gon faced him directly, allowing a hint of his impatience to show.

“He is an extremely important witness in a investigation that will be discussed by the Senate in less than an hour’s time from now. I assure you, if he is dangerous I am more than capable of handling him.”

Obi-Wan did not look over at Qui-Gon but Qui-Gon sensed the man’s own impatience in the bond and something almost like dark amusement at Qui-Gon’s wording. The guard hesitated before stepping aside and reluctantly letting them pass.

The inside of the Senate was more ornate than it appeared from the outside. The walls were durasteel, elaborately carved in older areas, left bare in newer areas. The ceiling was several meters above them. The floor was carpeted a rich red, it curved in one long hall, splitting off into corridors that went to the Senate archives, luncheons, and courtrooms. The curving hall led toward carpeted stairs and glass paneled turbolifts that would take them to the second level where the offices of delegates were. It was rumored that those close to the chancellor were given larger offices with more appealing views of Coruscant’s city, while those that had no connections and represented small planetary systems resided in much smaller offices on the third floor. The center of the Senate building was where the Senate Chambers were and where they would be presenting their evidence to hundreds of delegates.

Senators and aides walked down the massive curved corridor, talking quietly. High above them on the walls were various holosystems, displaying Coruscant time and weather for newcomers. Qui-Gon glanced up, automatically calculating the time to be late afternoon in the Core Worlds.

“You should contact our other witness,” Obi-Wan said quietly from where he had paused at Qui-Gon’s side, acknowledging where Qui-Gon’s thoughts were focused.

Without Virmu present to testify there were few others that Qui-Gon could immediately bring into the matter, but he knew one who would most likely assist. Qui-Gon strode down the corridor, pulling out a comlink and contacting Duro Starshipwright Shipyard. Within a few minutes of quiet discussion he was rerouted to Duro Security, Baniss-Ena’s low calm voice filtering over the line.

“Master Jinn, I gather you have recovered Master Jedi Virmu?”

Baniss-Ena sounded tired but Qui-Gon could hear genuine relief as well. He stepped around a representative, Obi-Wan following him, catching strange looks from delegates at the plain flight suit he wore.

“Yes, we are discussing her kidnapping before the Senate. Are you willing to testify about the Trevsin slavers?”

There was a pause at his abruptness, Baniss-Ena sounding slightly curious when they replied.

“There is much I do not know about them, our interrogation revealed little before they escaped.”

Qui-Gon did not need the Force to understand the slight nuance to Baniss-Ena’s tone, the worry that the thefts would come to light and the Duros would have to face a much larger and more unforgiving media than what Baniss-Ena was handling now.

“It would be only on what you knew,” he reassured calmly and heard Baniss-Ena exhale in thought.

“When?” they asked briskly.

“Twenty minutes from now,” Qui-Gon confirmed with a glance at Obi-Wan.

“Very well.” Baniss-Ena said and Qui-Gon heard that familiar businesslike note he had grown used to hearing from the Head of Duro Security, Baniss-Ena speaking to someone else, voice slightly quieter away from the comlink. “Get me everything we have on the Trevsins and alert The Company about Duro Security testifying.”

There was an answering murmur and Baniss-Ena’s voice came over the comlink.

“I will speak to you soon, Master Jinn.”

* * *

The gray halls and red carpeted floors of the Senate were markedly different than the Senate chambers. The chamber walls were painted a light gray-purple, the only color that did not carry negative associations for the multitude of planets represented. The soft color contrasted with the steel exterior of the circular Senate platforms that lined the walls of the enormous chambers. Each platform was large enough to seat six humans. A raised floor near the front of the platform gave the speaker height when standing to address the Senate. Two seats in the center of the platform were reserved for the most important members, whether they were senators or royalty, while a padded bench against the back of the platform was where lesser known representatives and aides could sit. Qui-Gon exited a narrow corridor leading from the main hall, stepping unto a platform that was often empty, as it was reserved for Jedi on the rare occasion one would attend Senate meetings. He nodded to the Senate guard that stood next to the corridor archway leading out to the platform. The guard stepped back, allowing Obi-Wan through.

The seats of the Senate were filling and Qui-Gon looked up, the cavernous room crowded with over a thousand platforms, each representing individual worlds and systems. They were arranged in tiered layers to give each platform a clear view of the other platforms. The platform Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon stood on was placed quite high above the others, between the platform for Donsan delegates and the platform usually filled by the Thedrians, neither of which were present.

He glanced over at Obi-Wan who was assembling their information into the computer located beneath the platform’s small console at the front. The younger man looked distinctly unfazed by the vast political realm they had stepped into. Years of diplomacy missions with Virmu and his own dislike for grandeur had given the man the ability to hold his own, Qui-Gon guessed. The only nervousness in the bond was regarding slavery and whether or not the Senate would respond aptly. Qui-Gon reached out, subtly touching the edge of Obi-Wan’s sleeve.

Politicians were now filing into their platforms, though there were many left empty, several delegates unable to attend the emergency session, or unwilling to. Qui-Gon reached out with the Force, the mood was confused, irritated, but curious at why the chancellor would call a session so late and without any warning. Obi-Wan stepped back from the computer,

“The data will transmit automatically to the other platform computers when you begin speaking,” he said quietly, before retreating to sit in one of the seats in the center while Qui-Gon moved to stand at the front of the platform.

They had already discussed that the majority of speaking would be done by Qui-Gon. As much as he disregarded hierarchy, his rank as a Jedi Master would have more weight than Obi-Wan’s padawan status. Though there would undoubtedly come a time when Obi-Wan would have to address the Senate regarding his enslavement, neither one of them were comfortable starting out the session that way.

The center platform, curved and ornate, remained stationary in the massive room. The tall figure of the Chancellor was visible there, the man turning to speak quietly to the Senate Leader, Mas Amedda and then to his administrative aide. Pale and slender, with a receding hairline, Chancellor Finis Valorum’s graceful movements and hard prematurely lined face embodied many individuals’ ideas of what a politician should look like. He had won election to the most powerful seat in the Republic but his popularity was already waning among the public who were dissatisfied with the inability of the Senate to make effective decisions. Qui-Gon watched closely, remaining at the front of his platform as more senators and representatives arrived and settled into their own platforms. The chancellor turned to face the Senate. He leaned forward, amplifiers along the pod sending his strong voice ringing throughout the massive room.

“The chair recognizes Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn.”

There was startled murmuring at the word ‘Jedi’ but Qui-Gon kept his expression blank as he tapped the controls screen in front of him. With a soft hiss of pressure, the platform slid away from the tiered walls and toward the center of the round room where the eyes of thousands were upon them. He was much closer to the chancellor’s platform now, taking in the slightly strained expression of the chancellor’s, before Valorum hid it behind a façade of bland interest. Qui-Gon turned his head, examining the crowd watching him. He did not have the time or the patience to use a formal address and instead began abruptly.

“I am here to speak of a crime that occurred on the last mission I was assigned to. I was traveling to Duro Starshipwright Shipyard. While in route, my ship was attacked. I, and the two Jedi I was traveling with were injured. We were captured and interrogated by humanoid slavers known as ‘Trevsins’. The Trevsins made it clear that they intended to enslave us. However, we were able to overpower them. The surviving Trevsins were secured and handed over to Duro Security when we arrived at our destination.”

He paused as another platform entered the empty area, spinning slowly to face him.

“We have no record of these ‘Trevsins’!” The senator from Kovishia shouted, waving a thin, sparsely furred arm, his aides standing as well to express their indignation.

Qui-Gon tilted his head.

“The data on them is available on your computer, it has been compiled from several sources.”

There was a swell of whispers as many of the other delegates examined the information on their own computers. Qui-Gon continued, ignoring the Kovishians agitated skepticism.

“The two Jedi I was traveling with were Jedi Master Sy’li-ki Virmu and her apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” He glanced down briefly at his own computer where the map of the Duro shipyard was displayed on a small holoscreen, “In an attack unrelated to the Trevsins, Master Virmu was injured. She was recovering at Duro Medcenter when the Trevsins escaped from prison and attacked Duro Medcenter.”

He lifted his head, sweeping his gaze around the room.

“She was captured by the Trevsins who then stole a Duromade ship and escaped.”

“Surely a Jedi would be able to resist capture?” The deceptively frail voice of Representative Fuysimka of Tahum asked politely, speakers amplifying the question as the representative’s platform spun into the opening.

Qui-Gon glanced over at the elderly Tahumi.

“Master Virmu was in a healing trance, a Force skill that Jedi use to restore their health. If the trance is deep, it almost always requires another Jedi to help awaken.”

The Kovishian senator turned, muttering something to one of his aides as their platform circled the area. There was other noise as well at the mention of the Force, a concept that many cultures could not understand or did not believe existed. Qui-Gon continued speaking with calm control, his voice filling every part of the Senate chambers.

“To verify this information, I request that my first witness be contacted.”

Valorum’s aide stepped forward at a slight nod from the chancellor, inputting a sequence into the platform controls in front of her. Massive holoscreens flickered into existence, floating high enough to not block the view of the proceedings but large enough that everyone could see as Qui-Gon contacted Baniss-Ena. There were eleven screens, Qui-Gon watching the one closest as it wavered before solidifying into the calm face of the Duro head of security, seated at a table.

“I announce a witness,” Qui-Gon stated firmly, “Baniss-Ena Inrull, head of Duro Security at the Duro Starshipwright Shipyard.”

Baniss-Ena tilted their head, lifting both palms briefly in acknowledgement.

“The chair recognizes the representative from the Duro shipyards.” Chancellor Valorum responded and Qui-Gon turned his head to look directly at Baniss-Ena.

“What did you know of the Trevsins before they arrived at Duro Starshipwright Shipyard?” he asked.

Baniss-Ena clasped long fingers, brow knitting in thought.

“I had never heard of them before,” they said calmly, “but our interrogation did confirm that they were slavers who often traveled into the fringes of the Core Worlds, looking for victims.”

“How did you confirm this?” Qui-Gon questioned and Baniss-Ena gave a small tight smile.

“We believe in isolating our prisoners, after a few hours of complete isolation, almost anyone is feeling in a talkative mood. I can provide the transcripts of each interrogation with the Trevsin slavers, if proof of their identity is needed.”

There was a rising stir of murmuring at Baniss-Ena’s calm mention of the ethical concerns of isolating prisoners. Qui-Gon stepsided that debate, focusing on the matter at hand.

“Did you believe that they were a threat?”

Baniss-Ena grimaced, aqua skin gleaming in the soft light of the room they were sitting in.

“I did, but I was understaffed as it was. My officers did what they could to secure them.”

Qui-Gon nodded.

“Please describe the Trevsins escape,” he requested.

Baniss-Ena nodded, reaching for a data pad.

“They were closely guarded the majority of the time. However, I needed officers with me when making the arrest of the thieves you were investigating. I pulled out who I could spare and left six officers in Duro prison. The cells were considered unbreakable and as some of the Trevsins were still recovering from injuries, I calculated the likelihood of them escaping in that time to be insignificant.”

Baniss-Ena paused, glancing away before looking directly toward the holoscreen.

“Our shipyard rarely has criminals; we do not have a large prison. In order to maintain complete isolation, I ordered that a Trevsin be moved to a different floor of the prison. It was one of the most injured Trevsins, I mistakenly believed. When reviewing my data, it is apparent that the Trevsin must have faked the seriousness of his condition. The moment he was free from the cell he attacked the officer who was supposed to be escorting him, and broke open the other slavers’ cells. There is an exit on the floor the slavers were on, they dismantled the alarm at the exit and killed the officer guarding it before escaping the building. Witnesses testify that the slavers split up at Shipyard 227, the majority heading into the shipyard, while three went toward the Medcenter. The moment they entered the Medcenter, we were notified. My officers and I arrived as soon as we could, but they had already attacked with blasters they had taken from the prison guards. Several medics and patients were injured. We arrived, only to see them flee in a ship they had stolen from the shipyard. I was then informed that Jedi Master Virmu had been taken hostage by the slavers. I contacted you immediately, offering the ship, the _Zar Ka_ , for you to pursue the slavers.”

Qui-Gon ignored the murmuring clash of different voices and languages as hundreds of delegates mulled over Baniss-Ena’s account.

“Do you think the Trevsins will continue kidnapping individuals in the Core Worlds?” he asked quietly.

Baniss-Ena frowned slightly, their orange red eyes narrowing in thought.

“Yes. They did not seem bothered with the risks of trafficking in Republic territory, they implied that there were many buyers and sellers in the area. Worlds that lack any type of military or security would be in danger of being attacked, perhaps turned into slave planets. The Trevsins were formidable. I am not sure exactly where they are from, but they and the people they work for are a direct threat to the principles the Republic stands for.”

“What principles are these?” Senator Rekk`o from Trandoshia demanded, her yellow-green scales catching the chamber lights as she stood, her revolving platform spinning into the center of the chambers.

Baniss-Ena tilted their head, their expression calm and purposeful.

“Peace and justice. Without proper action taken, the Trevsins will continue to wreak havoc on those traveling in the Core Worlds; they may become bold enough to threaten governments. They destroy peace. Those foolish enough to allow them to do so, when they have the power to stop it, prevent justice. I am already faced with complications, I do not have the security to protect both the Duro Starshipwright Shipyard and the Duro Space Run from slavers.”

Qui-Gon moved his platform closer to the center of the room. He looked up at the screens displaying Baniss-Ena. The Durosian’s testimony had clearly stirred many delegates, some were stubbornly refusing to believe the seriousness of the situation but others were talking among themselves, concern rippling through the Force. Qui-Gon raised his palms slightly in Baniss-Ena’s direction, inclining his head.

“Thank you for testifying,” he said quietly.

Baniss-Ena returned the gesture.

“I’ve ordered all our collected data on the matter to be sent to the Senate archives,” Baniss-Ena informed the assembled Senate briskly, “If there are those who wish for additional clarification.” With a nod offscreen, Baniss-Ena’s image vanished, the holo screens disappearing into nothingness.

Qui-Gon tapped the computer, the map of the shipyard now switching to a schematic of the Duro Space Run.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi and I pursued the slavers through the Duro Space Run, tracking their location when they jumped to lightspeed. We fought them briefly in the Vargor system. They contacted us and suggested that I exchange Kenobi for his master. I refused and they fled to Sh’Tar’Va.” Qui-Gon paused, glancing toward Obi-Wan, “I announce a witness, Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi to discuss this matter in more detail.”

He felt Obi-Wan’s apprehension as the man stood, approaching the front of the platform, Qui-Gon stepped back, meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze reassuringly for a moment. He knew what it cost Obi-Wan to be so open of his past, to speak of the Trevsins and the Sh’kil as if it were an academic matter and not something that haunted his nightmares.

“The chair recognizes the Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Valorum announced and Obi-Wan slipped forward, standing where Qui-Gon had while Qui-Gon sat down.

The sight of a Jedi dressed so informally raised curiosity and Qui-Gon heard an interested buzz in conversation begin then stop as Obi-Wan spoke quietly, his low voice echoing throughout the room.

“The Trevsins do not buy and sell slaves by themselves, they are traffickers for the Sh’kil. Nearly three hundred years ago, the Sh’kil were human scientists who were studying an unnamed planet in the Outer Rim. The planet had once been volcanic but was experiencing an ice age. From my research and their records, it appears that there was a large group of scientists and explorers that were examining the planet when a volcanic eruption occurred and they were stranded without transportation or communication. The humans of the group were most vulnerable to dying from exposure to the elements. They chose to enslave those that were not human in order to increase their chances of surviving. Over time, the humans became known as the Sh’kil and the planet as Sh’Tar’va.”

Obi-Wan paused, clasping hands behind his back tightly.

“I am not sure when the Trevsins first made contact with the Sh’kil, but apparently the two groups formed an agreement. The Sh’kil saw that they could build some sort of economy through the slave trade, the Trevsins agreed to transport the slaves. Years of isolation have led the Sh’kil to avoid almost all forms of outside contact. They do not leave their homeworld, any buyers must come to Sh’Tar’va to see the slaves. Despite their refusal to travel, in the last hundred years the Sh’kil have built an industry. Thousands of slaves are kept at their camps and mines, working until they are sold to interested buyers.”

Obi-Wan paused, Qui-Gon glimpsing the computer flashing through images, the noise of the other platforms rising in the slight silence before Obi-Wan continued,

“The Sh’kil-Trevsin slave system makes them the main controllers of the slave trade, as you can see from this data, many Republic planets buy slaves from them, under loose guises provided by the Sh’kil. If it is for the sexual industry, they claim the slaves are willing participants. On agricultural worlds, they list the slaves as belonging to a nonexistent corporation studying agriscience. These excuses are transparent; many of the slaves have marks of abuse when they arrive, beatings and whippings, starvation and sexual abuse. The most common indicator that the individuals are slaves is the marking on their right arm. This marking is the symbol of the Sh’kil.”

The geometric design that Qui-Gon knew so well on Obi-Wan, appeared on the computer holoscreen. Obi-Wan continued speaking as if unbothered by the reminder of it, the bond revealing what his face and speech could not.

“The Sh’kil crest bears similarity to the crest of the Yuulx University, the location where the Sh’kil’s scientist ancestors were most likely from. Over time, the Sh’kil added more to the design, turning the symbol into having almost a religious meaning in their culture. It is tattooed unto every slave that arrives at Sh’Tar’va, as well as etched unto the walls of the mines and often on Trevsin ships. It is a symbol of slavery, something the Sh’kil are proud to be a part of.” Obi-Wan touched the view screen, moving on to the next image, a map of different planetary systems. “Based on the data I collected directly from Sh’kil records, it is indisputable that these particular Republic planets benefit from the Sh’kil-Trevsin slave trade. A complete list is available via your platform’s computer.”

There was an uproar of noise as several platforms revolved into the center of the room, Qui-Gon’s gaze flickered from one angry face to another. Obi-Wan and him had been aware that this would occur once direct systems were named, but there was still the apprehension of what would happen.

“Order!” the Chagrian Senate Leader shouted over the noise, horns quivering in anger, “Order!”

Obi-Wan’s stood, unflinching as the hail of shouted accusations against him slowly died. Seeing his face, Qui-Gon thought that the man looked as if carved from ice.

“I was enslaved by the Sh’kil when I was fourteen. My memory of that time was damaged, due to the condition I was in when my Master rescued me. Therefore, I cannot legally testify about my first enslavement. However, the memories I do recall made it possible for me to return to Sh’Tar’va a second time so that I could infiltrate the mine where we believed Master Virmu was being held.”

“It became clear,” Obi-Wan said into the tense silence, “Soon after Master Virmu was taken, that I alone would go to Sh’Tar’va. Qui-Gon Jinn remained on board the Zar Ka, in Sh’Tar’va’s orbit, running scans on the planet. All information he compiled has been sent to your computers.” Obi-Wan looked down, his firm voice continuing, “The Sh’kil monitor what enters their atmosphere, any ship entering without permission would be destroyed. I believed that an escape pod would be able to enter undetected. However, I was fired on by the Sh’kil and crashed into Sh’Tar’va’s largest body of water, the Lower Ocean. Fortunately, I was able to walk to the mine.”

Obi-Wan lifted his head, looking around the Senate chambers, Qui-Gon seeing the strain in his shoulders, the tightness of which he clasped his hands behind his back.

“For three days I lived as a slave again, working in a salt mine, until I was able to find Master Virmu. With the assistance of other slaves I escaped with Virmu and all Sh’kil records of the mine.”

More of the records flashed by on the computer and noise broke out again, a platform rotating closer to the center of the Chambers, Senator Rekk`o from Trandoshia jumping up once more, fangs bared.

“We do not have evidence that you were ever a slave!” she snapped vehemently.

Obi-Wan turned slightly in her direction, his voice cold.

“I have provided evidence.”

“Those records could be adjusted,” she hissed, loud enough that it echoed around the chambers.

A rising swarm of voices came, debating in various languages, quelling only as the Senate Leader stood warningly. Valorum stood as well, directing his comment toward the Trandoshia platform.

“Accusations against the Jedi will not be tolerated,” he declared sternly.

“The Jedi fail to follow proper procedure to speak to the Senate,” the heavily accented voice of a new delegate protested, another platform spinning into the center of the chambers.

Valorum glanced toward the newcomer, Qui-Gon glimpsing the lines around the man’s mouth deepening, fatigue visible in the Chancellor’s face as Valorum looked briefly toward his aide before announcing heavily,

“The chair does not recognize the senator from Relvok at this time.”

Obi-Wan stepped back slightly from the front of the platform, Qui-Gon tensing at the rush of frustration through the bond solidifying into purpose.

“I have already clarified that the Sh’kil tattoo all slaves with their marking. If you have accessed the data provided to your platform’s computers, you will be aware that the ink is permanent and no known procedure can remove it once it is burned into the skin,” Obi-Wan declared, glancing around the room before looking directly at the stationary platform of the Chancellor. “If you require further proof that I was enslaved, I present myself as evidence.”

Efficiently, Obi-Wan slid his hand to the collar of his flightsuit, peeling it open so that the majority of the white undertunic he wore was revealed. He snapped open the fastening along the right sleeve, pulling it back to display the symbol tattooed into him with vivid black ink. The low murmuring of voices quieted and rose sharply as Obi-Wan calmly refastened his flightsuit, once again clasping his hands behind his back. Only Qui-Gon knew what Obi-Wan felt at displaying his tattoo before thousands of delegates and the records of hovercams, only he could see Obi-Wan’s hands tremble, the slight tightening of the younger man’s small mouth.

The noise was increasing and Mas Amedda leaned forward.

“Order!” he shouted again, the sound amplifiers along the pod carrying his strong voice above the rest.

The Senate Leader turned to speak to Valorum who nodded and gestured slightly to his administrative aide. She sat and began to type into the interlinking computer systems. Qui-Gon glanced at the computer, frowning at the words now streaming across it.

“A short recess is announced, we will return to debate this matter in an hour,” Valorum declared before turning to speak to the Senate Leader.

Qui-Gon bit back a protest as their platform automatically slid back toward the wall. He followed Obi-Wan who was already exiting the platform, agitation roiling through the bond, meeting Qui-Gon’s. They stopped a few meters from the Senate guard, reluctant to enter the main halls of the Senate.

“This is not working.” Qui-Gon spoke in an undertone, the bond shifting with their frustration and Obi-Wan exhaled, crossing his arms, frowning in thought.

“They have the evidence they need, but they are too blind by anger and distrust to accept it,” Qui-Gon said and felt suddenly immensely tired and hemmed in by the Senate.

At least the Temple did not fall to the pointless bickering that the Senate was capable of. The bond was surging with Obi-Wan’s thoughts, moving too fast to fully understand. Abruptly, Obi-Wan begin walking, leading them into the crowded corridors of the Senate.

“I need to contact the mine,” he said quietly.

Qui-Gon did not have to ask him to clarify. He had seen the endless data Obi-Wan had typed for hours on board ship, the information concerning the salt mine, the slaves Obi-Wan had known there. Qui-Gon was unsure if contact was wise, but realized that they had few options. They wove through senators and representatives, some openly staring, others glaring at the sight of them. Their indictment of several Republic planets as being involved in the slave trade had made them few allies.

“We have the coordinates, but it’s unlikely they’ll respond,” Qui-Gon pointed out quietly, only a long-range signal would reach Sh’Tar’va, something their comlinks were incapable of.

“They will once they realize they are being contacted by the Senate,” Obi-Wan replied instantly, moving around a protocol droid that was following a group of elaborately dressed aides, all clutching datapads.

“We don’t have a senator sympathetic to our cause,” Qui-Gon said.

He knew with time he would be able to convince a senator to represent their case, despite the allegations against several fellow delegates, there were honorable members of the Senate who would be willing to join them in their fight to ban slavery more effectively. However, they didn’t have weeks to negotiate some sort of arrangement only to have it stall halfway through the courts.

“I don’t need a senator, just their computer.” Obi-Wan spoke so only Qui-Gon heard him.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. He knew what Obi-Wan was referring to, and breaking into a senator’s office to access a personal computer was the last thing they should consider doing. He paused, directing them out of the flow of beings and to the turbolifts lined up against the walls. He knew he should admonish Obi-Wan for even considering such a concept when they were currently trying to prove the validity of their evidence. But any lingering doubt about the matter was pushed aside. They did not have time to worry about following proper procedures and Qui-Gon had never been the type to adhere to protocol.

“This way,” he murmured, leading them into a turbolift.

They went to the third floor. A particular senator that Qui-Gon had the misfortune of working with twenty-one years ago was still in office. Though bribes and threats, as opposed to any real devotion to duty, upheld his popularity. The Dahan’ko Senator was notorious for avoiding Senate sessions, preferring to spend his time drinking and gambling, therefore his office would most likely be empty. They passed Senate guards, along the hall but none were guarding the corridor leading into the senator’s personal chambers.

They moved with silent focus, Qui-Gon stopping in front of the keypad near the door. It was a numerical locking system, usually programmed to recognize a complex sequence. Qui-Gon considered it momentarily, feeling Obi-Wan shift next to him. Breaking in would be simple and easy to allow Obi-Wan control over, but he wanted to access the senator’s quarters without setting off any alarms, however unlikely it would be. His hand hovered for a moment over the keypad before inputting the coordinates for the Dahan’ko system. Instantly, the door slid aside and Qui-Gon shook his head wordlessly at the simplicity. They stepped in, waiting for a moment, reaching out with their combined strength in the Force, searching for any alarms. He was not surprised that the senator had nothing. The man had been particularly lackadaisical in security, an issue that had resulted in Qui-Gon becoming the man’s bodyguard for a tiring two weeks.

Obi-Wan approached the senator’s desk immediately, moving aside datapads that were spilled across the surface. The black walls were lit with ultraviolet lights that gleamed in the darkness of Coruscant. Qui-Gon stood near the door, watching as Obi-Wan turned the senator’s computer on, holoscreen rising. Obi-Wan lifted a scarred hand, splitting the screen, typing in data now fully memorized onto one of the screens, the contact coordinates for Sh’Tar’va’s salt mine.

Qui-Gon crossed the room in a few strides to stand on the other side of the trapezoid-shaped desk. Sculptures carved in black crystal caught the shine of the ultraviolet strips of light running along the small room. The darkness was almost eerie, Obi-Wan’s somber face lit by the blue glowing screens. Qui-Gon glanced toward the large windows, glimpsing endless lanes of traffic speeding by, buildings lit by millions of lights. They had limited time before they would have to return to the Senate chambers. The cycling data on both screens froze and Obi-Wan lifted his head to meet Qui-Gon’s sharp gaze.

“They’re responding,” the man whispered, distracted as he enlarged the main screen, pulling the one still streaming data to the side.

With a soft click the large screen focused into a picture. Qui-Gon able to make out the holo, but the figure unable to see him at the angle he stood at. The being regarding Obi-Wan was an Iktotchi male, his yellow eyes narrowed as he looked hard at Obi-Wan. One of his horns was nearly shorn through, his tough reddened skin coated with white powder and the dark orange blood characteristic of his species. Each breath the Iktotchi drew rattled in his throat, a lung or chest injury apparent. The blood spattered on his arms was the red of humans, unable to fully cover the tattoo along the shoulder and upper arm. Obi-Wan met the Iktotchi’s gaze,

“This is Obi-Wan Kenobi of the Jedi, I wish to speak to the resistance.”

The Iktotchi’s eyes widened slightly, his breath catching in a ragged sound.

“Are you offering aid?” he asked harshly.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to answer, but movement on screen stilled him as the Iktotchi moved aside, the face of a human replacing his. Her skin was a light brown, covered in numerous freckles, her close-cropped hair matted with blood and halite powder. Qui-Gon knew who she was, having glimpsed her in Obi-Wan’s thoughts of the mine over the last few days. He stilled, watching Cage, this woman who had sacrificed so much on the chance that it could save them all.

“Jedi,” the woman stated with an indefinable accent.

Obi-Wan inclined his head, “Cage.”

They regarded one another, equals in battle, Cage more edged and vicious then Obi-Wan, but there were similarities visible in their watchful expressions.

“The revolution was successful?” Obi-Wan asked and Cage nodded, weariness crossing her features, wide dark eyes fixing on Obi-Wan who frowned in thought.

“The death toll?” he questioned softly and Cage lifted a bruised shoulder in a shrug, revealing bandaging along her ribs, over dark clothing almost identical to what Obi-Wan had worn on Sh’Tar’va.

“Its impossible to know for sure, we lost maybe thirty percent, mostly in the early fighting,” she answered sharply, eyes flickering to the side of the screen, obviously trying to place Obi-Wan’s dark surroundings.

The watchfulness, the short concise answers, the focus on anything that could constitute a threat, Qui-Gon had seen the same behavior in Obi-Wan, had accepted it as a consequence of Obi-Wan’s past, but had not seen it honed to this level. This, he thought, was what Obi-Wan could have been, this creature of stealth, elusive alliances, and ambiguous ties to morality.

“Mem’vokla?” Obi-Wan asked, and a hint of vulnerability was momentarily exposed in Cage’s face before the woman’s expression blanked, her eyes locking back on Obi-Wan’s.

“She was shot in the leg but we have the bacta to heal it. There are other injuries much more severe.”

The words were a challenge as much as information. Qui-Gon felt the bond swirl with Obi-Wan’s determination.

“I am testifying at the Galactic Senate regarding the situation at the mine and the Sh’kil slave system.” Obi-Wan said quickly, aware of the limited time he paused, studying Cage closely, “They are reluctant to believe the reality of slavery.”

The woman lifted her chin, the challenge still in her eyes.

“What do you want me to do about it?” she demanded and Obi-Wan looked away, meeting Qui-Gon’s gaze, the bond already filling with approval as Qui-Gon considered Obi-Wan’s plan.

Obi-Wan turned back to Cage,

“Testify via hologram, tell them about the resistance, about the mine. It’s the only way to get aid quickly to the mine and other Sh’kil camps.”

Cage’s lip curled, her dark eyes narrowing,

“I don’t have much faith in government. What if they do nothing?” she hissed, her accent twisting certain vowels.

Qui-Gon watched as Obi-Wan leaned forward, inches from the hovering holoscreen, each word the younger man said etched with finality.

“I promise you, I will do whatever it takes to finish this.”

Cage tilted her head, her freckled skin gleaming in the faint light of where she was standing, the background a dark rusted wall behind her.

“Yes, I believe you will,” she said and surprisingly gave a small cunning smile before glancing offscreen. She turned back a few seconds later, her expression resolute. “I will testify.”

Obi-Wan nodded, already exiting data on the smaller hovering screen.

“I’ll input your coordinates directly into the Senate’s witness log. Will you be ready in an hour?” he asked and Cage raised an eyebrow.

“I’m always ready,” she stated coolly, pausing before speaking in the first hint of a softened tone, not looking away from Obi-Wan. “Thank you for Skausk.”

The name sent a flurry of images through the bond, ones that Qui-Gon could not quite understand. He knew in time he would, that Obi-Wan would explain everything, but this was still too near, too painful. Only someone who understood intimately the life of a slave had the right to discuss it with Obi-Wan at this time. Obi-Wan tilted his head to the side, the gesture conveying his quiet stubbornness, his inability to falter.

“It was necessary.”

That slight smile returned momentarily as Cage nodded.

Of course,” she said, “Good fighting, Jedi.”

Obi-Wan inclined his head in a slight bow.

“Good fighting,” he said softly, the screen going blank, Obi-Wan already wiping the conversation from the senator’s computer.

Qui-Gon checked the time.

“We have twenty-three minutes.”

Obi-Wan nodded, finishing turning everything off. He approached Qui-Gon and for half a second they watched one another in the dark room, the strips of bright light casting odd reflections off the crystal sculptures and Obi-Wan’s face that was turned away from the scattered lights of Coruscant at night.

* * *

When they returned to the Senate Chambers, platforms were already filling, some senators that hadn’t been present during the first part of the session now were, as were more journalists, hovercams circling the massive round room. News of the fact that Jedi were accusing Republic planets of criminal activity must have spread quickly. Obi-Wan returned to his seat in their platform, Qui-Gon touching his shoulder briefly before moving toward the front of the platform. He would not ask Obi-Wan to keep speaking. It was too exhausting and painful for Obi-Wan to talk of his past.

They waited long minutes for the Senate platforms to fill and for the chancellor to return. It was impossible to hear over the din of different voices, many delegates speaking rapidly in their native tongues, discussing the earlier session and speculating on what would happen now. Finally Valorum appeared, standing on his raised platform, he looked out over the Senate for a long moment before proclaiming the Senate session open once more. Qui-Gon touched the platform controls, moving the platform into the center of the room, ignoring the barely quieted rush of noise.

“I announce a witness, Cage, who represents the successful resistance of slaves in the Sh’Tar’va salt mine, located near the Lower Ocean,” he said firmly, his firm voice effectively silencing the remaining conversation.

Again, the large holoscreens flickered into place, blank for a few moments before displaying Cage’s bruised face. Her eyes glanced around, but she did not appear intimidated by the sheer enormity of the Senate.

“The chair recognizes the representative from Sh’Tar’va,” Valorum said after a pause and Cage looked sharply toward his platform.

“I speak for the slaves, not the Sh’kil,” Cage declared coldly,

Qui-Gon turned his platform to face one of the hovering screens, studying her. Her light brown freckled skin was marked with blood, dirt, and salt. She was beautiful in an angular, uncompromising way. Her expression was almost scornful as she met his direct gaze. They did not know each other but his immense gratitude toward her for all that she had done to keep Obi-Wan alive must have shown in his eyes, for she jerked her head in a nod, waiting for him to speak.

“If you could describe the mine under Sh’kil control,” Qui-Gon said quietly and watched her brown eyes darken, her gaze become distant as if drawn painfully into the past. It was an expression he recognized on Obi-Wan and again the similarities between the two startled him.

“So many died, the first year I was here. It was the first year operating the mine. Things hadn’t been arranged yet. Dozens of slaves would arrive daily, but they still died. We stood on the bodies so our feet wouldn’t freeze.” Cage’s accented voice lost some of it’s harshness as she spoke of the past, becoming remote, “The Sh’kil were angry at such loss, hardly any salt was being mined, we could barely break through the ice, everyone was dying. They built boilers to heat the mines by burning the dead and the weak.”

Her face hardened, her dark eyes flickering toward where Obi-Wan was seated, a look of understanding and brief acknowledgement passed between them before she looked back at Qui-Gon.

“I survived because I chose to never show weakness.”

Qui-Gon looked down momentarily at the computer, data still cycling through it, still being transported to various platforms. No doubt the data was being picked up by various journalists, was being announced around the galaxy.

“Were the injured always burned?” he asked, his mouth dry as he glimpsed images through the bond of the salt mine, sensing Obi-Wan’s disquiet.

Cage shook her head, halite powder falling from her short hair.

“No, several times a month we would form lines. A Trevsin picked the weak out of the line and shot them. They enjoy that sort of sport.” Her mouth twisted in a grimace.

“Did the Trevsins patrol the mine?”

“Not often, that was more common in the northern mines. The Sh’kil ran everything in the salt mine. There were only a few enlightened guards, as well. Skausk wanted complete control.”

“Who is Skausk?” Qui-Gon asked, he was almost afraid of the answer, afraid of the images streaming through the bond, Obi-Wan’s increased tension.

“He was the Sh’kilian in charge of the mine,” Cage answered shortly.

“Objection!” a platform moved into the center of the room as the five armed delegate on it stood, face creased in outrage, “I demand to speak to the true leader of this mine, to validate—”

“He’s dead,” Cage interrupted with icy scorn.

Voices rose in a chorus of demands and questions. Valorum stood, hands flexing nervously, unseen except by the platforms revolving around the chancellor.

“The point is conceded to the delegate of Felikili, is there any of the Sh’kil we may speak with?” Valorum finally said and Qui-Gon’s hands tightened on the curved edge of the platform, his irritation merging with Obi-Wan’s, but before he could object, Cage was speaking, studying Valorum coldly.

“You may speak to me. The Sh’kil at this mine are dead. We have taken power,” she snapped, accent thick with anger.

The Felikili delegate waved their many arms, the species known for dramatic outbursts.

“Felikili protests such violence! We demand that this be resolved through the courts!”

Qui-Gon leaned forward, maneuvering his platform closer.

“This session was opened for the purpose of presenting evidence on the trafficking operated under Trevsin-Sh’kil control. We have the means to destroy slavery by counteracting the Trevsins’ blatant encroachment into Republic borders, and penalizing the worlds under Republic control that buy slaves, or benefit from the slave system. The Judicial Department is fully capable of enacting these measures, with the assistance of the Jedi,” he declared harshly, past the point of waiting any longer for the Senate to see reason on their own.

“You are demanding a branch of the Republic to operate outside of Republic borders,” Sain Organa stated sternly, her white robes fluttering slightly as her platform moved into the center of the room. Representing Alderaan in place of Bail Antilles who was not present, she regarded both Cage and Qui-Gon with serene inquisitiveness.

“The Judicial Department is not built for these endeavors,” one of Coruscant’s representatives announced loudly, their platform rotating in toward Qui-Gon’s.

Qui-Gon turned, looking directly at the Coruscant representative.

“Then increase its funding and provide training to those in the department,” he instructed.

“This is outside of Senate control,” the representative whined, his hands raised in protest.

Qui-Gon turned his head sharply, looking around the massive room. Cage’s face was visible on multiple holoscreens, eyes full of quiet rage at the inadequacy before her. Despite years of Jedi training in patience, Qui-Gon felt very much the same.

“No, it is here,” Qui-Gon insisted harshly, “Nearly a quarter of the worlds represented in the Republic have ties to the slave trade. Trafficking occurs everywhere. Kidnapping is happening in the Core Worlds at this very moment. This is not an issue concerning only the Outer Rim.”

“The Jedi do not have the authority to request that the Senate—” the Felikili delagate broke in before quelling at the look Qui-Gon gave him across the distance between their two platforms.

“I _have_ the authority to make these requests because the enslavement of sentient beings is outlawed by the Republic. It is a crime, one that must be resolved as soon as possible.” Qui-Gon remained standing, his face betraying a severity rarely shown.

On the hovering holoscreens he saw Cage’s gaze turn toward him, her defiance replaced with wary curiosity. Valorum shifted slightly but his face did not show the unease Qui-Gon could sense from him, only fatigue.

“Master Jinn, we regret that without all delegates available—”

Qui-Gon interrupted him.

“There is no Senate ruling that requests all delegates be present to vote.”

He swept his gaze over the massive circular room, the thousands of figures representing a multitude of planets.

“I don’t have time for this. You have one hour to approve or reject of the changes I have presented.”

“Master Jinn,” Valorum protested, eyes wide with surprise, “The Jedi have not expressed approval over your plan to restructure the Judicial Department. We must have time to discuss this.”

“Chancellor,” Qui-Gon said bluntly, “I refuse to give this body more time for pointless debates. You have heard two witnesses of the Sh’kil’s brutality, and the head of Duro Security has informed you of the Trevsins attack on their Medcenter. Numerous accounts of the slave trade have been presented in our evidence. What is there left to discuss?”

* * *

It was only a few hours before daybreak when they finally returned to the Temple. It was quiet inside, the long sculpted halls empty of everyone but a few droids and Jedi that were arriving from missions, or leaving for them. A few Jedi wandered past them, nocturnal species mostly who were more comfortable walking the Temple halls at night. There were some glances their way, Qui-Gon sensing mild curiosity, Obi-Wan raising shields slightly at the gentle brushes of the Force against their own Force presences. The bond was a bright light in the Force, unable to be completely hidden, other’s minds touched against it but could not quite decipher it. Obi-Wan’s nontraditional haircut and civilian clothing notwithstanding, many Jedi knew that Obi-Wan was Virmu’s padawan, the sight of him and Qui-Gon walking and speaking quietly in close confidence was bewildering for them. The knowledge that a powerful bond was between the two men was even more confusing, however, there were no more than brief glances or a slight pause in the calm measured pace of the Jedi as they passed. For that, Qui-Gon was grateful.

Qui-Gon led the way to the Council chambers. The moment he had turned on his comlink after the final decision by the Senate, the Council had contacted him and made it clear that he and Obi-Wan were to return to the Temple immediately. The tension in Master Windu’s voice could not shake the certainty in their bond, that they had done the right thing and Qui-Gon smiled as they turned down a corridor with no one present and Obi-Wan touched his hand briefly.

Qui-Gon looked over at him. In the dimmed glow of lights along the Temple halls, he noticed once again how different Obi-Wan looked than when they had first met. The man’s hair was longer, and he was slightly thinner, more exhausted from everything that had happened, and yet, there was a sense of peace to Obi-Wan, a sense of purpose. Obi-Wan led instead of followed now, the bond filled with his endless determination to keep going, not because Obi-Wan feared falling behind, but because there was still so much to be done. Acknowledgement swept through the bond, an awareness that they had a place in the universe and that with or without Temple and Senate permission, they would remain by each other’s side.

The hall outside of the Council chambers was empty, Virmu would have given her report of their mission hours ago. Qui-Gon stood in front of the tall chamber doors, waiting to be allowed in. he did not look at Obi-Wan, both of them thinking of what lay before them. By unspoken decision they had agreed to keep the bond open, concealing it from the Council would be nearly impossible and Virmu would have informed the Jedi Masters already of Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon’s connection.

He thought again of when Obi-Wan had asked to build a life with him, the joy that Qui-Gon had felt at that moment lingered still in their bond, as did the precious memory of Obi-Wan laughing, something he thought he would never see. He looked over at the large window running down the hall, watching traffic fly by. The Council chambers were located in one of the Temple’s spires, the view of Coruscant from their location was stunning. He could see the edge of the horizon behind buildings, night almost over.

The soft hiss of the doors parting drew his attention back to the present. He stepped forward, Obi-Wan by his side as they entered the Council chambers. The chambers were circular like the Senate chambers but much smaller. Large windows covered most of the walls, displaying the cityscape of Coruscant. Twelve chairs were placed against the curved walls of the room, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon moving to stand in the center, bowing and remained silent, the eyes of each Council member on them. He was surprised that all Council members were present at such an inconvenient time. But then, the Council had wanted to speak to them on their return, and Virmu’s version of events was most likely alarming enough they had been willing to wait until they could contact Qui-Gon. Each face was impassive, the Force resonated with the strength of the Council, but their emotions were concealed.

“Gone for a very short time, you have been,” Yoda said finally, his large green eyes focusing on Qui-Gon, “And yet, happened, much has.”

Qui-Gon inclined his head in a short nod toward the diminutive Jedi Master, glancing at each master in the room. Master Windu leaned forward in his seat, tall and dark skinned with a shaved head and focused gaze, few could withstand Mace Windu’s measuring stare without looking away.

“We have heard Master Virmu’s account of your mission. There are many points that must be further explained. There are actions you have taken that are directly against the Code,” Master Windu intoned, watching Qui-Gon carefully.

Qui-Gon glanced over at Obi-Wan before stepping forward.

“Masters, if I may speak openly?”

The Council exchanged glances of wary interest before Yoda waved a clawed hand.

“Speak, you may,” he said, his gravelly voice echoing in the small room.

Qui-Gon crossed his arms, tucking his hands into his sleeves, an old nervous habit Dooku had never quite trained out of him. He began to talk, first discussing the mission at Duro shipyard, the betrayal of Levet and Kiom, Baniss-Ena’s levelheaded assistance, the destruction and theft of ships. Then he spoke of the Trevsins, the attack while en route to Duro Starshipwright Shipyard, their capture and escape, chasing them through the Duro Space Run, the attack in the Vargar System.

Obi-Wan was silent, supportive in the bond as Qui-Gon spoke. Master Windu held up a hand, regarding Obi-Wan with a long stare.

“Why did you disobey my order to remain at the Duro shipyard?”

Obi-Wan stepped forward, meeting Master Windu’s gaze calmly.

“I was aware that time was limited. Master Jinn and I had to act quickly. I knew where the Trevsins were most likely taking Master Virmu, I knew I would be able to infiltrate Sh’Tar’va much easier than another Jedi, having been there before.”

An uneasy silence followed, Yoda sighing heavily before speaking calmly.

“Very few years ago it was, when before me you stood. A boy you were, close to the path of darkness, confused…uncertain…angry.” Master Yoda’s voice rose and fell in pitch, oddly lyrical in the soft echo of the circular room.

The small alien’s long ears twitched, his green skin shining in the lights reflected off a chain of air taxis flying past in the distance.

“Experienced much loss you had, loss of focus, loss of self. Believed we did that by sparing you of your past, peace you would find.”

“Master,” Qui-Gon said quietly, “I do not agree with the Council’s decision to wipe Obi-Wan’s memory of his first enslavement.”

“Agree you do not?” Yoda asked then tilted his head thoughtfully, “Hmmm, a difficult decision, it was.”

Mace Windu tapped his fingers lightly on the arm of his chair.

“Destroying memories is dangerous, but to do nothing when there is suffering and instability in the mind is worse.” Mace’s dark eyes moved to Obi-Wan who stood still, meeting his gaze.

“You killed with the Force,” Master Windu said bluntly, “To allow you to keep the memories of your experiences as a slave would endanger you to the path of the Sith.”

Qui-Gon bit back a protest, feeling the edge of anger against their bond, his and Obi-Wan’s. Obi-Wan lifted his jaw.

“I did what I was trained to do,” he stated flatly.

“We do not train Jedi in the dark ways of the Force,” Plo Koon stated from his seat on the other side of the room, his voice muffled by the ventilating mask he wore to filter Coruscant’s oxygen to a level more sustainable for him.

“Discuss this later we must, speak now of Sh’Tar’va, you will,” Yoda declared, looking hard at Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon bowed and continued speaking, he told what he knew from Obi-Wan that had happened. He kept his description of the mine short. He felt tired suddenly from everything that happened, weighed down with the Council’s disapproval and his own impatience at their unwillingness to admit that they were wrong.

“You returned to Coruscant hours ago and spoke before the Senate first. Why?” Mace Windu demanded once Qui-Gon finished speaking.

“I am allowed to speak before the Senate if I believe the Temple is not properly addressing a matter,” Qui-Gon said quietly.

“What matter is this?” Depa Balba asked, her calm low voice coming from behind Qui-Gon.

“Slavery,” Obi-Wan answered for Qui-Gon, his expression that of someone infinitely older, eyes haunted. “I won’t allow it to be continued to be ignored, not when it is so prevalent.”

“Your decision, that is not,” Yoda reprimanded sternly but Qui-Gon cut in.

“Evidently it is. The Senate has given permission for a special branch of the Judicial Department to be devoted simply to destroying slavery. The vote was strongly in favor of the Jedi being in charge of the unit, so that the Judicial department wouldn’t have to stay within Republic jurisdiction. They will need training and resources, but the Senate voted to increase funding and provide full support to the unit.”

The Council exchanged startled looks, the Force ebbing and flowing with loosely hidden thoughts and emotions. Ki-Adi Mundi, recently appointed to the Council, leaned forward, his yellow eyes wide as he looked at Qui-Gon.

“This was decided without our approval,” he murmured.

Qui-Gon could sense the outrage in many Council members, hidden from his own Force powers, but accessible through the bond. He understood why they were offended, but he could not continue to wait for their decision, not when it involved the enslavement of others.

“It is decided. That is the important matter,” he responded quietly.

Master Windu leaned back in his chair, steepling long fingers and staring hard at Qui-Gon.

“I believe the important matter now is the bond between you and Kenobi,” he stated brusquely.

Master Yoda shifted slightly on the small round chair he sat on, his reptilian face creased with a faint frown.

“Clear Master Virmu was, a relationship, you have.”

Qui-Gon met the ancient Jedi Master’s eyes.

“Yes,” he replied.

“She stated that the relationship was romantic,” Adi Gallia said behind him, her soft voice held a note of incredulity. The blue sheen along her warm brown skin caught the interior light, her bright eyes glancing from Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon whispered.

He was not ashamed or afraid of what the Council were thinking regarding his relationship with Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan and him had accepted banishment as the most likely outcome. The only thing he would not allow would be for them to be separated or the bond broken.

“You are willfully disobeying the Code. Such connections are forbidden,” Master Windu protested, his expression almost fierce as he stared at the two Jedi in the center of the room.

Qui-Gon glanced toward Obi-Wan.

“I do not know how the bond formed, or why it is so powerful. We discovered it only shortly before the Trevsins attacked the Duro Medcenter,” he answered.

Qui-Gon flinched as he felt a strong Force sense push against the bond, their translucent shields wavered, Obi-Wan fighting his instinctive need to shield further and protect the bond as Master Yoda’s eyes fluttered close, his touch deepening along their bond before suddenly breaking away.

“Powerful, it is. A padawan bond, this is not. Unsure I am of what this may be.”

Master Windu glanced toward Yoda before looking back at Qui-Gon.

“The bond drew you together?”

“In a way. It is possible I could have blocked it in the beginning.” Qui-Gon replied honestly.

“Why didn’t you?” Ki-Adi Mundi asked, confusion evident in his higher musical voice.

Qui-Gon stared at him, the bond flaring brightly in his mind, Obi-Wan stepping forward slightly, to stand next to him.

“Because we chose to be together,” Qui-Gon responded firmly, “I love Obi-Wan.”

Outside the Council chambers, the night was ending, turning shades of blue, and purple, stars that had still been visible through the polluted atmosphere were fading. Long shadows were cast in the room, Qui-Gon feeling as if he was standing on the edge of a precipice as the Council stared at him.

“Love, very dangerous love is. Forbidden it is, all Jedi know this.” Yoda finally spoke, brow furrowed.

Master Windu nodded, his face grim, he leaned forward to look at Obi-Wan.

“Padawan Kenobi, were you coerced into this…connection?”

The accusation stung, Qui-Gon quickly repressing the anger that rose inside him. Obi-Wan was not so careful at pushing aside his own outrage, or perhaps he no longer cared.

“No,” he said with cold certainty, giving Mace the same look Cage had given to Valorum, “I return Qui-Gon’s feelings.”

Silence came again, Qui-Gon sensing shock still lingering in the room, and other emotions, exhaustion, concern, irritation. He glanced at Obi-Wan, the feelings belonged to neither of them. Even shielded, he could sense the Council’s tightly concealed thoughts. The bond and Obi-Wan’s powerful mind allowed them the ability to reach further than they normally could through the Force. This was why there was concern, even fear in the Council’s mind. They knew the bond was powerful, something they could not fully control and that it did not follow only the path of light but was a sort of conduit to raw Force energy. Obi-Wan’s mind, his own, together they were more formidable than he, or the Council, had first realized.

 _You knew this_ , he said silently to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan looked at him, large green-blue eyes calm, quiet.

_Of course._

“Hmmm…sense truth I do, yet truth in Master Virmu’s statements there is as well. Wrong, this is. Against the Code, it is. Understand this, every Jedi does.” Master Yoda said quietly, breaking the tense silence.

He looked hard at them before sighing, shaking his head, ears twitching. “Much there is to discuss, examined your bond will be later.”

The idea of an examination was met with fear and dislike from Obi-Wan through the bond but Qui-Gon sent reassurance toward him. The Council would not do damage to the bond, he would make sure of that, but he could not fault them for wanting to understand it. There were many questions he had concerning the bond that did not yet have answers.

“We will request your presence before the Council later today. We will make a decision then, regarding this ‘bond’ and your refusal to follow the law of attachments,” Mace Windu said sternly, he motioned toward the doors which slid open, “You are dismissed.”

Qui-Gon bowed, Obi-Wan following him as they left the Council chambers, moving toward the turbolift that would take them to the main floors of the Temple.

“Where are your quarters?” Qui-Gon asked in the lift, Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

“With Master Virmu’s, but something tells me we wouldn’t be welcome there.”

Qui-gon made a noise of half-amusement, half irritation.

_No, probably not._

He walked instead toward the Temple wing that housed Jedi knights and masters that did not have apprentices. There were a few more Jedi in the halls then before the Council meeting. It was very early, but there were those who rose before light to attend mediation sessions, or sparring. The familiarity Qui-Gon had with the Temple felt jarred, misplaced. He was very aware that he might never return after the Council’s final decision on their bond.

The sense of loss was brief though. He would remain with Obi-Wan, they would continue doing what they could to stop slavery. They had convinced the Senate to act, already reinforcements were on their way to Sh’Tar’va, already things were changing for the better. If it meant being cast out of the Jedi, to bring about the end of slavery, Qui-Gon was more than willing to make that sacrifice. They stopped in front of a door, no different than the others, except for the symbol engraved at the top of the door, an ancient republic numbering system that few beyond Jedi and historians knew. The door was not locked, that was not necessary at the Temple where privacy and honesty were both understood. As the door slid aside, Obi-Wan paused.

“This is where you live?”

“It was.” Qui-Gon answered, stepping through the door, leading Obi-Wan into a small main area.

There were only three rooms, mostly bare, a main area, a bedroom and a bathroom. There were a few things from past missions, gifts given to him that he had not known what to do with. Two paintings hung on the otherwise bare walls, Obi-Wan crossing over to look at them while Qui-Gon adjusted the rooms temperature to a setting more comfortable for Obi-Wan.

“Al’dovnarian.” Obi-Wan said, looking over his shoulder, “I was not aware you were interested in their artwork.”

Qui-Gon crossed to his side,

“I like the way they show light and movement always blurred together.”

The paintings were in dull colors except for the burst of light eclipsing silhouettes in one image, mountains in the other. He turned toward Obi-Wan,

“I did not know you were familiar with their artwork, it’s not very well-known,” he said, curious.

Obi-Wan shrugged.

“That is understandable, I prefer more realistic paintings myself. Virmu appreciates artwork, one of her few interests that are not implicitly connected to the Jedi. We seldom had the same taste though,” He paused, voice softening in thought, “I wonder if she will ever forgive me or if I will ever forgive her.”

Qui-Gon opened his mouth but Obi-Wan shook his head, offering a small smile.

“Neither one of us liked Al’dovnarian paintings,” he said, gesturing to the small canvases, “She felt that they relied too much on symbolism. I find them too abstract.”

“Some things we only understand in abstraction,” Qui-Gon responded quietly.

Obi-Wan tilted his head.

“Like movement and light?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon murmured as Obi-Wan bridged the few inches between them, their mouths meeting. A soft rush of sorrow came, images flickering through the bond. Qui-Gon pulled back, raising his hands to frame Obi-Wan’s face, looking into the younger man’s eyes, his own concern rising.

“What is it?” he asked.

Obi-Wan sighed tiredly. He stepped away, toward the large window in Qui-Gon’s main room, pulling back the curtain to look toward the Senate building in the distance, the edges lit by the first rays of morning light.

“When I remember the mine, I remember the cold, and the fire. The darkness and the light, everything escaping, everything falling apart,” He turned, dropping the curtain and looking back toward Qui-Gon, the lighting in the room harsh compared to outside. “Talking about it, deciding what needs to be done, it can’t make me free of what happened, not until I’m out there doing something to stop it.”

The bond surged with memories, thoughts that Qui-Gon had glimpsed but Obi-Wan had rarely shown, the mine, the camp. The slaves, caught between living and dead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Obi-Wan frowned in confusion, taking a half-step toward Qui-Gon.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said and Qui-Gon shook his head, swallowing and looking away.

“I couldn’t be there,” he said tightly, aware of emotion rising in him, anger that Obi-Wan had had to face Sh’Tar’va alone, sorrow that he couldn’t protect his beloved, confusion that everything he felt was against the Jedi path and yet he could not see his emotions as evil.

Obi-Wan studied him, that stern steady gaze Qui-Gon knew so well focused solely on him. When Obi-Wan spoke it was with quiet certainty.

“When I was there, I dreamt of you,” Obi-Wan paused, moving slowly closer to where Qui-Gon stood, “We were sharing the same dreams in the bond.”

He stopped in front of Qui-Gon, greenish eyes rising to meet Qui-Gon’s.

“You must understand, Qui-Gon,” he whispered intently, “Even when you weren’t there, you were.”

* * *

Despite the pollution, Coruscant sunrises were often beautiful, Qui-Gon had watched them from Temple balconies, aboard shuttles and here, in the bedroom in his quarters. The light painted the white walls with various soft hues as it crept in from the two large opaque windows against the far wall. He watched it fall over Obi-Wan’s face, the man moving toward him with that determined stride Qui-Gon knew so well, unfastening his flightsuit along the way, peeling it, his undershirt and boots off and Qui-Gon inhaled, seeing light shine on the edges of the man’s slender form. The soft blueness of early morning touched Obi-Wan’s bare legs while the rising sun fell across his face and shoulders, turning the pale skin into different layers of ice and fire.

Obi-Wan stopped in front of him, leaning up to kiss him, sliding hands to Qui-Gon’s utility belt. Qui-Gon framed the man’s face with his hands, kissing him intently, moving only when he had to for Obi-Wan to pull off the man’s ragged tunic layers until Qui-Gon was wearing just a thin undershirt. Obi-Wan rested fingertips against the warm patch of skin beneath Qui-Gon’s collarbones, Qui-Gon tilting the man’s head, feeling the younger Jedi’s lips part, their tongues taste one another.

The bond swirled with love, joy, the riveting sensation of being here, now. The room shone with the early light, Obi-Wan breaking the kiss to rest his head against Qui-Gon’s shoulder, arms wrapping around him. Qui-Gon slid a palm along the smoothness of Obi-Wan’s side, feeling the raised areas where a whiplash had once wrapped around the ribs. He settled his hand on Obi-Wan’s hip, the younger man murmuring quiet encouragement as Qui-Gon eased the man’s underwear off, stepping back slightly. Naked in the dawn’s light, Obi-Wan looked so handsome in the mostly bare white room. He lifted his chin, regarding Qui-Gon with confidence and love, the bond rising with anticipation.

Qui-Gon took one of Obi-Wan’s hands, tracing the scars there, the fading bruises. The soft sound of their breathing was magnified in the bright room, the opaque windows dispersing the light so that Obi-Wan almost glowed. He was so perfect, alive after everything and that sensation in Qui-Gon’s lungs that he had felt the entire time Obi-Wan had spoken of his past to the Senate, had revealed his tattoo, came again. A raw burning pride, a love too tender to speak of. His eyes stung and he blinked, looking down. They did not speak, no words could describe the emotions they felt, the almost painful relief to have this moment again with one another.

Obi-Wan knelt, helping tug off Qui-Gon’s boots, his strong slender fingers sliding over Qui-Gon’s ankle, removing socks. The younger man stood again, unfastening Qui-Gon’s pants and sliding the fabric down, pausing again at Qui-Gon’s thighs before pulling off leggings and underwear, head tilting back to kiss Qui-Gon, hands pushing up the hem of the man’s undertunic, slipping it over Qui-Gon’s head when they separated. Their bare skin brushed against each other, Qui-Gon feeling the coolness of Obi-Wan’s flesh beneath his palm as he traced fingers over Obi-Wan’s stomach and hip, careful with the still faint bruises there. He rested his face against Obi-Wan’s soft hair, dropping his head to kiss the side of Obi-Wan’s neck, tasting the unique flavor of the man’s skin. Obi-Wan inhaled raggedly and as they pressed close, Qui-Gon could feel that Obi-Wan was aroused, they both were.

He led Obi-Wan to the bed. It was larger than the bunk they had shared the last few days. The white sheets were still rumpled from Qui-Gon not making the bed before he had left for the Duro Starshipwright Shipyard. He paused, kneeling on the mattress, looking at Obi-Wan, lying on the white tangled sheets, here in the only home Qui-Gon had known. It felt intrinsically right and the bond sharpened with desire and need as he studied Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon reached out, trailing fingers down Obi-Wan’s arm, the skin faintly textured from scarring. The younger man’s skin was luminescent in the dawn, pale and lightly freckled. He sought out the softness along the insides of Obi-Wan’s forearms, the slight muscle along his stomach and chest, the crook of an elbow, the underside of the man’s jaw. Everything was rediscovered, traced over by fingers and followed by his mouth, the narrow hipbones, the back of the knee, the ankle. He sat up more fully, looking down at Obi-Wan who watched him, chest rising and falling with breathlessness, eyes large, beautiful like the ocean.

Qui-Gon felt joy rise inside him, to know that he could give Obi-Wan pleasure and that the man could feel free enough to express it. The impending declaration from the Council regarding their bond should have made him feel worried, as he had before on the Zar Ka, consumed with love and passion and yet rushed to hold onto each moment with Obi-Wan, knowing that their time was limited and the man would leave soon. Now, it did not matter, whatever the Council decided, they would still be together. Now, he could linger in each moment and better understand it. He rested a hand on Obi-Wan’s bare foot. Obi-Wan regarded him with his particular sense of quiet intrigue. The warm circulated air brushed over their naked bodies, Obi-Wan lying still, smiling very slightly.

He moved his hand up to Obi-Wan’s shin, bending to kiss a kneecap. The mystery of the other man was not gone, Qui-Gon discovering new scars, freckles, fading bruises in his gentle exploration. He felt Obi-Wan’s hands settle on his sides, stroking down Qui-Gon’s ribcage, hips and thighs. Qui-Gon lifted his head, one of Obi-Wan’s hands settling at his shoulder. Obi-Wan pushed lightly and Qui-Gon let himself be guided firmly down to the bed, enjoying feeling the strength of another man, Obi-Wan’s supple body now on top of his own, bending to kiss him intently.

He was lost in Obi-Wan’s mouth, their tongues meeting. A soft moan left him without knowing as Obi-Wan framed his face, tilting Qui-Gon’s head to kiss deeper, pulling back, Qui-Gon catching a glimpse of greenish eyes before Obi-Wan’s mouth returned, softly kissing him now at the corner of his mouth, the edge of Qui-Gon’s bearded jaw, the throat. Qui-Gon gasped, the noise not lost on Obi-Wan whose mouth hovered a few seconds above Qui-Gon’s pulse point before descending, kissing the man’s neck, sucking lightly at the skin before turning his head, resting his cheek momentarily against Qui-Gon’s left collarbone. Qui-Gon carded fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair, feeling Obi-Wan exhale against him. They stayed still for a little while, the light colors of early day washing over them, the increased temperature in the room comfortable enough so that neither one of them was cold.

Obi-Wan moved, sliding over him, his arousal as apparent as Qui-Gon’s, the soft light of the rising sun gleaming on him, catching the red in his auburn hair, giving a flush of color to his fair skin. His mouth moved further down, Qui-Gon gasping as it lingered on his chest, then moved to trace his ribs, his abdomen. Strong slender hands grasped Qui-Gon’s hips and held them firmly, Qui-Gon feeling the wetness of Obi-Wan’s mouth on his left hipbone, the slight graze of teeth where hip met thigh. He had not considered the possibility of what would happen next until wet heat descended over his erection and he cried out, hips almost bucking, were it not for Obi-Wan holding them still.

The sensation of Obi-Wan’s mouth was both electrifying and soothing and Qui-Gon’s hands tangled in the sheets, his breath coming harshly from him. He looked down at Obi-Wan in dazed bliss, feeling every muscle under his skin tighten as Obi-Wan sucked, hollowing his cheeks. Qui-Gon trembled, hips jerking against Obi-Wan’s grip involuntarily, never imagining that it would feel so intense to have Obi-Wan’s mouth on him in such a way. The younger man’s tongue stroked the underside of Qui-Gon’s penis, taking him in deeper, sucking harder and Qui-Gon felt a building heat in his abdomen, a rush towards ecstatic insensibleness, a sharp gasp escaping him at the sensation. He fumbled at the sheets, gripping Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and Obi-Wan pulled off him, looking confused and assertive and Qui-Gon’s head spun, he closed his eyes, using the Force to push back the desperate climax approaching.

“I—” he broke off, finding words still difficult, his breath leaving him in shuddered gasps.

Obi-Wan’s face softened, understanding through the bond. He turned his head, lightly kissing Qui-Gon’s thigh, the motion filled with love.

“Yes,” he whispered, tongue flickering over pale skin and Qui-Gon trembled, again reaching for the Force for calm.

Obi-Wan crawled up near him and Qui-Gon gently rolled them over, so that Obi-Wan lay under him, the man’s chest rising and falling with anticipation, erection deliciously hard against Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon longed to touch him, to take the man into his mouth, but he felt suddenly off-balance, needing, and he could sense Obi-Wan was reaching that point as well. He leaned down, kissing Obi-Wan, tasting himself on the man’s lips before he slid off the bed.

Jedi kept few items besides necessities but in a small cabinet in the bathroom Qui-Gon kept medical supplies for treating minor injuries from a difficult mission or an intense sparring bout. The lights in the bathroom seemed too bright, jarring after seeing Obi-Wan in the soft light of daybreak. He was shaking slightly, still unsteady from the pleasure lingering in his veins as he opened a small cabinet near the sink, shifting aside bandages and bacta patches and pulling out a small tin of salve. He shut the cabinet, briefly glimpsing himself in the mirror, smiling shyly as he saw the slight marks along his shoulders and chest from Obi-Wan’s mouth. Qui-Gon returned to his bedroom, setting the small tin on the endtable near the bed. Obi-Wan watched him steadily, his large serious eyes never wavering, a small beautiful smile crossing his features as Qui-Gon crawled back into bed, half over Obi-Wan, kissing the man again. He lingered there for a long time, kissing Obi-Wan’s throat, chest, hands sliding over the man’s torso.

He turned Obi-Wan by the hips slowly, taking his time, his mouth trailing over the man’s shoulders, the healing cuts along Obi-Wan’s back, fingers sliding down the vertebrae of the man’s spine. Obi-Wan moved subtly into his touch, a soft sound coming from him when Qui-Gon kissed the back of the man’s shoulderblade. Obi-Wan turned his head, resting his cheek against Qui-Gon’s pillow as Qui-Gon leaned over the smaller man, touching where the scarred texture of Obi-Wan’s slender back curved, tasting the lithe muscle in the shoulders and upper back from years of Jedi training. Through the bond, they radiated with light, Obi-Wan especially, the sunrise painting over him so that Qui-Gon caught his breath as it shone along the younger man’s skin.

He rested a hand on the back of Obi-Wan’s upper thigh, anticipation swirling through the bond, Obi-Wan’s wordless insistence meeting his silent question. Qui-Gon sat up only enough to reach the tin of salve. He unscrewed the lid, setting it on the sheet and dipping fingers into the ointment. It was more fluid than most salves, but he felt that was probably better. Obi-Wan lifted his hips slightly, parting his thighs more. Qui-Gon leaned down to kiss the small of Obi-Wan’s back as his slick fingers slid into the cleft of the man’s buttocks. He traced the tight entrance with one finger, kissing up Obi-Wan’s spine, hearing the younger man inhale, pleasure and expectation shifting through the bond, feeling muscles relax beneath him. The heat and tightness surprised him as it had the first time and he paused with the tip of his finger in, Obi-Wan gasping, shifting a leg higher to give Qui-Gon better access. Qui-Gon trembled over him, feeling such tenderness and desire surge through him, unaware of which one of them it came from, just knowing that he wanted Obi-Wan desperately. He slowly eased his index finger in deeper as Obi-Wan’s muscles relaxed further. It was easier than it had been the first time, but he still moved carefully, he heard Obi-Wan sigh, the man turning his head and Qui-Gon kissed his cheekbone,

“Another?” he asked softly and Obi-Wan nodded.

Qui-Gon slicked another finger, sliding both in slowly, hearing Obi-Wan’s quiet inhale. The man’s hips rose slightly, pushing back into the motion. Qui-Gon gasped at the sensation, the openness of the bond transmitting joy and need. He was trembling, teeth lightly pressing into Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“One more,” he whispered raggedly and felt Obi-Wan nod again.

The third finger was harder to slide in and he slowed his movements, giving Obi-Wan time to relax further. They were both panting, Obi-Wan gasping as Qui-Gon gently stretched the man’s entrance, Obi-Wan pushing back into the motion.

“Now,” Obi-Wan commanded breathlessly and Qui-Gon slipped his fingers out.

He was trembling, desperate to feel the wet heat of Obi-Wan surrounding him. He kissed the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck roughly, but he was gentle as he slicked himself and pressed against the man, pushing just enough to enter. Obi-Wan made a short sharp noise, pleasure jarring with surprise and Qui-Gon stilled, repressing the need to move. He knelt over Obi-Wan, arms bracing himself to keep most of his weight off of Obi-Wan. After a few seconds he felt the muscles along Obi-Wan’s pelvis relax, Obi-Wan turning his head to look over at Qui-Gon.

“I’m ready,” he gasped.

Qui-Gon kissed him, awkward for the angle they were at, before he buried his face in Obi-Wan’s hair, smelling the scent of the soap Obi-Wan had used, pushing in deeper. Obi-Wan gasped, hips heaving and Qui-Gon moaned, feeling the tight compress of the man’s body around him. Each soft gasp that Obi-Wan gave jolted through Qui-Gon, building with the intense joy and he moaned again, kissing Obi-Wan’s shoulder and neck, hips rocking into Obi-Wan’s. They moved as one, the bond connecting them, reaching for them with a thousand threads. Light seemed to build over their entwined bodies, Qui-Gon thrusting, Obi-Wan crying out beneath him in pleasure as Qui-Gon brushed something inside him and Qui-Gon gasped, feeling Obi-Wan’s happiness surge through his own. He angled his hips, hitting that sensitive spot at each thrust and Obi-Wan reached out, hand pressing over where Qui-Gon’s was next to him.

It was astounding, the contact of so much bare skin, the bond open and building further between their minds, the Force surging through the small room. Obi-Wan’s legs parted further, the tight heat of his body overwhelmed Qui-Gon. He gasped, hearing Obi-Wan’s quiet groans as he thrust deeper. He moved a hand under Obi-Wan, running fingers down Obi-Wan’s abdomen, damp with perspiration and gently took hold of the man’s erection, stroking it, whispering Obi-Wan’s name over and over. He felt Obi-Wan shudder, gasp Qui-Gon’s name as well, breaking off to moan quietly at the ecstasy rushing through them.

It was the rising sun, the taste and quiet sounds of Obi-Wan beneath him, Qui-Gon buried inside the man and feeling himself come undone, shaking and lightly biting the soft area between Obi-Wan’s neck and shoulder as the Force whirled through him. There was a moment of unbearable light and ecstasy, their minds so connected that he knew Obi-Wan’s thoughts and dreams and felt the swift passage of the sunrise through their very bones. Qui-Gon cried out loud, releasing his seed into the man, unaware for a breathless glorious moment whether he was himself or Obi-Wan, feeling both heat encompassing him and penetrating him. He heard Obi-Wan’s own soft cry, stroking the man’s penis as Obi-Wan came beneath him and they both collapsed. Qui-Gon panted, their skin slippery, shuddering and heated, the bond washing back and forth between them, stretching out each sensation of pleasure, expanding the climax until it finally quieted, both of them shaking.

Pleased weariness flooded through Qui-Gon and gently he slipped out of Obi-Wan, moving so that his full weight was off the younger man, body curled against the man’s back. They lay for a few minutes, still trembling, awed by the brightness of the bond, the intensity of the mental and physical joining. Qui-Gon wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan, pulling him against his chest. There were no words, only the quiet unwinding of pleasure, the content sigh Obi-Wan made as Qui-Gon held him close in those minutes afterward.

After awhile, Obi-Wan sat up, Qui-Gon’s damp long hair clinging to both their skin as Obi-Wan kissed him, climbing out of bed and going into the bathroom. He came back with a wet cloth, sliding back into bed, his large eyes bright in the clear daylight streaming through the nontransparent windows. They cleaned each other slowly, still dazed by the incredible bliss. Obi-Wan paused to kiss him deeply and Qui-Gon’s eyes closed, savoring the feel of Obi-Wan’s mouth, the press of hands over his ribs and heart. When they parted, the bond pulsed with an almost fierce happiness, Qui-Gon knowing he would never leave the man’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m pretty sure the Council were not considering this outcome when they dismissed Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon for the night…
> 
> I know I’ve written twice in this fic as Qui-Gon being the top but I think its pretty obvious that Qui-Gon likes Obi-Wan in charge just as much. ;) 
> 
> Qui-Gon telling the senate what to do was such fun to write. And bringing back in BANISS-ENA (dubbed ‘Badass-Ena’ by my sister) and CAGE in the same chapter made me wish I could have gotten the two characters to meet at some point. I’ve grown to really love these original characters. 
> 
> So…the senate’s finally getting shit done, but what does the temple think about all this? I promise everything will be resolved in the final chapter. Omg guys…only one chapter left…wow…I can’t believe it’s almost over…


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well here we are, a year from where we started. i want to thank each and every one of you. a longer thank you is in the notes for this chapter, so make sure you check that :)
> 
> now, i am very happy to present the final chapter for System of Darkness, i hope you all like it. :)

Obi-Wan woke instantly, body automatically tense at the unfamiliar surroundings before he calmed, aware of Qui-Gon asleep next to him. Their limbs were tangled, his head on the man’s chest, Qui-Gon’s heartbeat resounding through his own skin. He lay still for a moment taking in the comfort of having Qui-Gon close to him, the feel of warm air washing over him from the room’s air circulators. The blanket underneath them had slipped half off the bed and Obi-Wan shifted slightly in Qui-Gon’s arms, watching the muted light of day fall over the man’s larger body. The warmth in the room and Qui-Gon’s bare skin against his own felt luxurious, dreamlike, as if he were still asleep.

Obi-Wan turned his head toward the opaque windows. The sky outside was clouded, most likely late afternoon, the frosted glass preventing him from making out the shapes of traffic or buildings. He looked at Qui-Gon, the man sleeping peacefully beneath him, his long graying hair loose around his face. Obi-Wan reached out, tracing scarred fingertips over Qui-Gon’s ribs and abdomen, feeling the man move instinctively into his touch. Obi-Wan stilled, resting his hand on Qui-Gon’s hip. These moments of quiet regard and contentment had been too few in their time together. He breathed in, inhaling the warm clean scent of Qui-Gon. He was determined to have this moment every morning, regardless if the Council banished them or tried to separate them. They would not be parted, Obi-Wan would not allow that to happen.

After a time Obi-Wan lifted his head from Qui-Gon’s chest, pausing to press a kiss against the man’s broad shoulder before slipping out of bed. Qui-Gon’s bedroom was small and mostly empty. There was no artwork on the walls or half-assembled components of some project left unfinished. Each room was almost bare and Obi-Wan recalled that Qui-Gon rarely spent time at the Temple. The man had been the type of Jedi that preferred to live from mission to mission, seldom returning to Coruscant in between assignments.

There was a feel of both welcome and finality to moving through Qui-Gon’s quarters, the warmth of the rooms calming as Obi-Wan mentally prepared himself for the Council’s decision on the bond. He gathered his clothes, watching Qui-Gon sleep for a moment before he slipped into the small bathroom that looked remarkably the same as the bathroom attached to his and Virmu’s quarters. An automatic laundry dispenser took up a corner of the room. Obi-Wan dropped his flightsuit in the machine, resetting the size requirement for Jedi tunics that he needed. He showered in the time it took for the machine to recalibrate the new information. It was still processing the request when he exited the shower and he wrapped a towel around himself, shivering slightly at the feel of air on his damp skin.

Obi-Wan paused in front of the mirror, tilting his head at his reflection. He looked different than the last time he had bothered to examine his image, back on the _Zar Ka_. His hair had grown out enough that the majority of it lay flat, in a month or two it would be in his eyes. His body was different, still thin and not particularity muscular, but different, less tense perhaps. There were slight marks on his lightly freckled neck and shoulders from where Qui-Gon had kissed him last night. Obi-Wan smiled softly at the memory of the older man’s passion and shyness. As Jedi they had been trained to disregard desire and both of them were still somewhat inexperienced when it came to expressing intimacy.

Obi-Wan turned away from the mirror, going into the main room. There was a couch against one wall but he chose to sit on the tiled floor instead. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and exhaling. Meditation had not come easily to him over the last few days, he had been too consumed with working on organizing data for the Senate meeting and distracted with his fears regarding the fate of the slaves on Sh’Tar’va.

 _Sh’Tar’va_. Obi-Wan slowly allowed his emotions about the planet to come forward. He had felt helpless as a slave, angry, and lost. His focus on finding Virmu and the presence of the bond had been the only thing that had kept him from losing control. It had been difficult to return to slavery, perhaps the most difficult thing he could do, and yet, it had helped change the course of events for the universe. The Sh’kil would not be able to fight off Republic troops, their industry would be disbanded. The Judicial Department unit that was to exclusively focus on ending slavery would move on to the Trevsins, and then to Ol/korvin Enterprises, and the Har-fo`e. The unit would be mostly volunteers from the department, trained to fight but not trained for the brutal reality of slavery, for the lengths slavers were willing to go to increase their profit. Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed. He should have insisted to the Senate that the unit be properly trained first, but there was no time. Slavery was ending, it needed instant action from the Senate to ensure that it would never return.

Something brushed Obi-Wan’s mind, a question or a thought, soft enough that it did not startle him. He opened his eyes, regarding Qui-Gon who stood next to him, dressed in his Jedi tunics, hair wet from showering. Qui-Gon smiled slightly, but Obi-Wan sensed apprehension through their bond. Qui-Gon handed Obi-Wan tea and Obi-Wan stood, taking the chipped cup and drinking, aware that the Council must have contacted Qui-Gon already.

 _The Council?_ he asked silently,

 _They request that we meet with them in the hour,_ Qui-Gon replied through the bond, _They wish to speak to you first._

This close to the other man, Obi-Wan could see the different shades of blue in Qui-Gon’s dark eyes, the strands of silver in his hair and beard. A sense of disquiet wove through the brightness of the bond. Obi-Wan lowered his tea, looking at Qui-Gon.

“Why?” he wondered aloud,

Qui-Gon shook his head.

“I am unsure.”

Trepidation hung over them, Obi-Wan’s thoughts turning to the bond. It seemed to strengthen each time they touched in physical or mental intimacy. It was formidable enough now that he was unsure if the full strength of the Council _could_ sever it, but there was still the fear that that might be what the Council wished for. Qui-Gon’s apprehension was palpable, the bond swimming with his worry of memories being erased, their lives separated, the bond broken.

“That will not happen,” Obi-Wan avowed quietly, setting the half-full cup of tea down on a small endtable.

He knew the Council were confused and threatened by the existence of the bond but they would not go far enough to destroy it, he would not allow it. Qui-Gon nodded, he touched Obi-Wan’s cheek with large callused fingers, stroking over the man’s cleanly shaven jaw with his thumb before resting his forehead against Obi-Wan’s.

“I want to live my life with you,” Qui-Gon whispered.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, holding tightly to the moment, knowing that it did not matter what the Council decided, they would still have each other. He felt Qui-Gon’s warm fingers on his cheek, smelling the sweet earthiness of tea. Qui-Gon stepped back and Obi-Wan looked up at him. He studied Qui-Gon, aware of how perfect the man was, strong and quiet in the afternoon light, Qui-Gon’s gaze direct, fiercely loyal.

* * *

They stood outside the Council chambers once more, the jumble of lights that they had seen from the long Temple windows last night were gone. Buildings were now visible surrounding them, spanning outwards as far as they could see. Weak sunlight gleamed off metal, the light gray sky blending into the massive structures around them. Obi-Wan had never liked cities, he preferred nature or even the cold emptiness of space to the glass and steel buildings surrounding him everywhere he turned on Coruscant. All his years as a Jedi had not conditioned him to love where he came from. To him, there was a ugliness to the industrialization of Coruscant. He could not understand the drive that pushed people to keep building until ruin came and then to abandon the area or build over that ruin without bothering to restore what was left.

Obi-Wan turned away from the window, tugging slightly at the edge of his tunic. It felt odd to be wearing Jedi clothing again, especially as in all likelihood it would be the last time that he would be allowed to. He looked over at Qui-Gon who stood calmly near the Council doors, his presence in the bond anything but patient. The older man was dressed in his own Jedi robes, his hair partly pulled back, hands tucked into his sleeves. Obi-Wan wanted to stand near the man, to touch Qui-Gon’s shoulder, but he refrained from such contact, knowing it would only raise more questions from the Jedi nearby. They had lightly shielded the bond but it was still a powerful presence and Obi-Wan had sensed curiosity and confusion from several Jedi that they had passed on their way to the Council chambers.

He frowned, if they were banished at least they would not have to conceal their relationship. He glanced toward the Council doors, he did not know what the Council would ask him when speaking to him alone. He had never spoken to the full Council by himself but then, he had never thought he would break the Code so severely. He recognized that to not expect punishment for disobeying Jedi laws was foolish, and yet Obi-Wan felt suddenly very tired of having to defend his bond with Qui-Gon. What they had was something he could not explain, something that completed them both. Why should he be ashamed of that?

Obi-Wan pulled his cloak closer around him, the Temple halls cold after the warmth of Qui-Gon’s quarters. He crossed his arms, waiting. A Jedi passed by them, pausing slightly before continuing. Obi-Wan wondered if news of their testimony before the Senate had reached the Temple. It was likely the meeting had been widely broadcast, considering how rarely a Jedi testified before the Senate, particularly on a controversial subject such as the slave trade.

It was several minutes longer before the Council doors slid open with a soft hiss. Obi-Wan paused, he glanced over at Qui-Gon. The man caught his gaze, the bond flooding with reassurance. Obi-Wan nodded, stepping forward, the doors sliding shut behind him. He walked into the Council chambers, his steps echoing softly in the silence. Obi-Wan stopped at the center of the round room, bowing. He straightened, meeting the stern expression of Master Windu. The eyes of every Council member were on him but Obi-Wan felt oddly detached from their scrutiny. The strength of the bond flowed through him, a direct connection to the Force and to Qui-Gon, nothing the Council did would change that.

“Come before us you have,” Master Yoda intoned in the quiet room, looking up from the small rounded chair he sat in, “Speak to us you will.”

Master Windu glanced at Yoda, nodding slightly before fixing Obi-Wan with his intense stare.

“Why did you disobey the Code?” he asked flatly.

Obi-Wan tilted his head.

“If you could elaborate?” he suggested calmly,

The Council exchanged tightlipped looks and Master Windu leaned forward.

“Master Virmu informed us that you were infatuated with Master Jinn very soon after you met and that you disobeyed her directives several times to remain near him.”

Obi-Wan stayed quiet for a minute, considering Virmu’s statement. He had known she would accuse him of being swayed by emotion. There was truth to that, but she neglected to see other aspects of the bond, the undying loyalty he had for Qui-Gon, their seamless harmony working on a task together, their ability to compliment each other’s strengths, and work towards a solution.

“At the time, I was not aware of why I was drawn to Qui-Gon,” he replied, his low voice firm, “but even when I knew my feelings went against the law of attachments, I never allowed it to interfere with the mission.”

“Master Virmu states otherwise,” Adi Gallia murmured from her seat behind him.

Obi-Wan did not turn to look at her, he kept his gaze on Master Windu’s, unflinching.

“Master Virmu was unconscious for the majority of the time. I do not blame her for the conclusions she has come to, nor her accusation that my regard for Master Jinn was against the Code, but she is not an accurate source about the mission as she was incapacitated before the Duro thefts were resolved.”

“You believe that this forbidden relationship was not detrimental to the mission?” Ki-Adi Mundi questioned, his melodic Cerean accent tense with disbelief.

Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered around the room, meeting the stares of the twelve seated Jedi. He straightened, clasping hands behind his back and focusing on Ki-Adi Mundi, repressing the instinctive need to shield the bond further.

“I believe that my relationship with Qui-Gon was not particularly relevant to the mission at the Duro Starshipwright Shipyard,” he responded steadily, “However, on the mission to Sh’Tar’va our connection was extremely important, without it I would not have survived.”

“Can you make the separation between when and when not your relationship is relevant?” Even Piell snapped, his one blue eye watching Obi-Wan closely.

Obi-Wan remained still, the Force humming through him, the bond so intrinsic that the thought of shielding from it as he had on Sh’Tar’va was painful. With Qui-Gon at his side they were a powerful team, capable of overcoming any danger. Without him, Obi-Wan was lost. Obi-Wan shook his head wordlessly, surprised at how deeply he depended on Qui-Gon, how little that frightened him. There were times where their connection would not be necessary to resolve a mission but he could not say when that would be.

“A Jedi you are, forbidden such a connection is,” Yoda declared.

Obi-Wan looked hard at the diminutive master, calm in the certainty of the bond, in Qui-Gon’s presence that was there, circling through the Force, slipping through his mind like light.

“Without the bond I would never have been able to endure enslavement on Sh’Tar’va, I would not have been able to rescue Virmu, nor assist with forming a resistance movement.”

“You chose to return to enslavement to find Master Virmu despite our insistence that you return to the Temple,” Mace Windu stated after a long pause in the small room.

“Yes.”

“Determined you are, wish to destroy slavery you do,” Yoda announced authoritatively, raising a clawed hand slightly.

Obi-Wan’s gaze shifted to the windows behind the Council chairs, remembering that sense of purpose he had felt when leaving Sh’Tar’va’s moon. His voice was distant when he spoke, flashes of the past lurching through the bond, the dark images of slavery remaining as an imprint on his mind.

“Yes, that is what I wish.”

“Do your personal experiences affect how you view slavery?” Eeth Koth asked from his seat behind Obi-Wan.

“Shouldn’t they?” Obi-Wan challenged quietly.

“What do you think of the slave trade?” Mace Windu demanded, his dark eyes watchful as he stared at Obi-Wan shrewdly over interlocked fingers.

Obi-Wan met the senior Council member’s gaze directly, his green-blue eyes bright in the clash of soft interior light and the clouded sky outside. There was an added intensity to Mace Windu’s question, a sort of excavation for truth.

“It’s a system of darkness, anyone who is involved with it is a criminal and they should be punished as criminals,” he answered immediately, his low voice decisive.

“And you want to make that your prerogative?” Master Windu questioned further, brows raised at Obi-Wan’s bluntness.

Obi-Wan stared flatly at the man.

“I am a Jedi,” he said somewhat dryly, “Eradicating darkness is my prerogative.”

The Council studied him, he could feel the Force brushing against his mind, humming in the room. Obi-Wan resisted the impulse to turn away, to raise shields, he had never had his mind this open to this many Jedi. The silence continued, Obi-Wan remained still, gaze shifting only slightly to meet Master Yoda’s eyes. After a long moment the small Jedi master nodded, ears twitching, his green lined face turning toward the Council doors.

“Speak to Master Jinn we will, examined your bond must be.”

* * *

When Qui-Gon entered the Council chambers Obi-Wan sensed his presence not only through the bond but in the other Council member’s minds as well. It was like a subtle shift in air currents, a brightness of light, Qui-Gon’s Force sense combined with his own was powerful, familiar. Obi-Wan glanced over at the man as Qui-Gon stopped at his side, bowing before meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze briefly.

“We must examine your bond,” Mace Windu announced firmly, but Obi-Wan could sense a slight unease in the Council, perhaps because the bond was stronger than they preferred, or perhaps because of the instinctive need Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon both had to protect one another.

Obi-Wan had found it difficult to have Virmu in his mind and she had barely lingered, too afraid of what might happen, of giving up control. He had understood that, as Qui-Gon now understood it, the man glancing toward him. Obi-Wan inhaled slowly to steady himself, dipping his head in a nod at Qui-Gon’s silent question and the older man turned to face the Council.

“Very well,” Qui-Gon said softly.

Obi-Wan bit the inside of his cheek, dreading what was to come. It was nearly impossible for him to lower his shields, to let someone touch his mind. He had struggled to allow Virmu to do so when she had attempted to heal him, he was unsure if he would be able to with the Council. He closed his eyes, centering his mind on the bond, feeling Qui-Gon reach for him, their thoughts touching, comforting. He cautioned himself to not respond in fear as slowly Master Yoda’s Force presence brushed against his mind, then Master Windu’s, then the rest of the Council. Pressure began, building steadily at each new mind reaching into his own. He lost awareness of his surroundings, everything inside him focused on what was happening now in the Force, in his mind.

_It was like fire, the thoughts and emotions that were not his own, consciousness bursting into flame, spreading out of control, threatening to destroy everything in it’s path. Obi-Wan could no longer distinguish individual presences, confused and hemmed in by the feel of others minds colliding with his own. He tried to pull back, to find somewhere to escape but he was snared by the pressure, his thoughts momentarily interlaced with memories of the Lower Ocean, almost drowning on Sh’Tar’va. But where that had been ice, this was heat, unbearable heat pushing up against him, burning thoughts not his own into him. Obi-Wan forced himself to not struggle, to allow it even as his instincts urged him to fight, to regain control._

_The bond was probed at and Obi-Wan faltered, needing to shield, to protect but unable to. In the rush of others he could not find Qui-Gon, he could feel nothing but sound and movement inside his mind. It was too much, the need to defend himself was overwhelming and he felt ancient pain reverberate through him as he remembered this, this instability, this turmoil. It was there in murky memories of being rescued as a child, crouched on a metal floor while ship engines hummed beneath him, Virmu attempting to speak to him but he was lost in his mind, torn away from control…_

_Suddenly Qui-Gon was there, his mind against Obi-Wan’s, closer, deeper, surrounding him, calming him, pushing aside other minds. The minds continued to investigate the bond, but they were shadows at the edge of his awareness. He felt Qui-Gon close to him, keeping him safe, keeping everything safe._

I can’t do this much longer, _Obi-Wan sent through the bond, jarred by the invasion of other thoughts. His shielding was keeping the bond secure but control was slipping from him, that dark emptiness of oblivion he felt when threatened was beginning to overpower him, pulling him under, and then it was all falling away, Qui-Gon’s presence the only constant as fire whirled through them…_

Obi-Wan opened his eyes to a multitude of lowered voices, Qui-Gon was leaning over him, hands on Obi-Wan’s upper arms, dark blue eyes staring at him with sharp concern. Small details stood out in Obi-Wan’s mind, the dark ring of color around Qui-Gon’s irises, a small scar near the man’s thumb, the shine of light on his hair. Momentary dizziness came, Obi-Wan’s head pounding with a brutal headache. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, cataloguing what happened. The Council had examined the bond, something had gone wrong. Had he lost control? He opened eyes again, waiting for his swaying vision to clear. He realized the only thing keeping him upright was Qui-Gon’s support. He blinked until he could focus and regain his footing. Qui-Gon’s grip on his arms loosened, fell away, the older man watching him as Obi-Wan looked over at the Council unsteadily. Many of the Council members appeared upset, some shocked, a few had half risen from their chairs, speaking in urgent whispers. Obi-Wan studied them but none appeared injured. He exhaled. He had not considered how dangerously he could have reacted if Qui-Gon had not been there in the bond. Qui-Gon stepped forward, the man’s mouth set in a tight line.

“You did not inform me that the examination would be so invasive,” he snapped, his voice, which always had a slight musical lilt to it, was lower, rough with tension.

The Council stopped speaking, but there was no mistaking their expressions of confusion and shock. Master Windu shook his head, leaning forward he stared at the floor intently, as if collecting his thoughts.

“This is unprecedented, we had no idea Kenobi would be so resistant to the examination, that your bond would be so powerful.” The pragmatic Council member sounded almost shaken, his brow furrowed in deep thought, he looked up at them. “A soul bond,” he said quietly.

“Impossible,” another Jedi murmured, others nodded, but with a sort of helplessness behind their denial.

Obi-Wan met the Council’s stares indifferently. He was too drained to by what had happened to care for their discomfort. He felt exhausted and unsure at his own lack of control. He was not prepared to deal with so many minds reaching for his own, to allow the bond to be so thoroughly investigated. He could not maintain such openness, not when he’d been taught to shield from everyone.

“Well?” he said finally.

Some of the Council members looked pale, agitated in a way Obi-Wan would have never thought them possible of. Master Yoda leaned forward, resting clasped clawed hands on his knees, his expression unreadable.

“A Force bond you share, open it is to the Force and each other,” he said heavily, “A soul bond it is.”

“Soul bond?” Obi-Wan repeated, unfamiliar with the words.

“Very ancient it is, very rare. Only three have I heard of, none in the years I have sat on the Council. Only with two Force sensitives can the bond occur, an equal partnership it is. With another, the bond would not exist,” Yoda explained, looking from Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon with wide eyes.

Qui-Gon frowned,

“If I had not met Obi-Wan—”

“Bonded you could have with another, but only ever the bonds of master and apprentice, of friendship. Predestined, some may say, your bond with Kenobi is.”

Obi-Wan stared at Yoda. Was it possible that Qui-Gon and him were meant to find one another? That even if they had not been assigned a mission together they would have still been drawn to one another at some other time? He had never been fond of believing in destiny. And yet, he had known from early on that the bond was more powerful than either him or Qui-Gon, that it brought them closer than any other bond could have.

“So it is the will of the Force that brought us together,” Qui-Gon murmured, lost in thought.

Yoda frowned slightly, large green eyes narrowing in concentration.

“Hmmm…impossible to say that is, chose to be together you did, grown stronger the bond has. In pain you were when bond was blocked or separated.” Yoda sighed, ears shifting, light glinting on the sparse white hair along his scalp, “In pain you will always be if separated.”

Obi-Wan sensed apprehension behind the softly spoken words. Pain he could understand. He had endured pain on Sh’Tar’va and afterward, when for a moment he had thought Qui-Gon lost to him in the crash of the Duro ships.

“Our studies on soul bonds are limited, it is not a concept that most Jedi believe in,” Ki-Adi Mundi said quietly.

“But it does happen,” Qui-Gon pointed out and Master Windu nodded

“For Jedi, and for Sith. One of the three bonds Master Yoda mentioned is briefly chronicled in the Sith holograms that we have recovered. A soul bond is a direct connection to the Force, it can be used for good or for evil.” Mace Windu explained, his deep voice strong in the silent room, “Considering that the relationship between both individuals is almost always romantic, the dangers are clear.”

Qui-Gon turned his head slightly, meeting the senior Council member’s piercing stare.

“You believe love is inherently wrong.”

“Not wrong,” Yoda answered readily, raising a clawed hand, “Dangerous it is. Love leads to jealousy, jealousy to anger, anger to hate. This matter we have always known.”

Qui-Gon crossed his arms

“I do not believe that is true,” he said forthrightly, “You do not know, you are afraid to know.”

Such a blatant accusation against the Council would have been reprimanded at any other time but they were beyond those matters. Obi-Wan stepped forward.

“We will not be separated,” he vowed with quiet determination.

Yoda sighed again, looking around at the other seated Council members before fixing his gaze on Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon.

“Separate you we cannot, but aware of risks you must be,” he stated, “Permanent a soul bond is. Eternal, it is. Connected to the very Force you are.” Yoda shook his head, “If severed the bond is, then die you will.”

“Based on the limited records we have of what appear to be these sort of bonds, if the bond is destroyed it will kill you. If one of you dies, the other will die as well. There is no middle ground, no possibility for revoking this bond, not anymore,” Mace Windu explained, dark eyes flickering between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, betraying a nervousness that was not present in his calm even tone.

Obi-Wan stared at the Council. He thought of Sh’Tar’va, of laying awake in those brief hours of rest, determined not to sleep, feeling Qui-Gon on the other side of the bond, knowing that blocking the man was harming both of them but unable to see any other solution at the time. He had been trying to protect Qui-Gon from witnessing the mine, still too unfamiliar to the bond to trust that it could provide the solace he had desperately needed.

The bond had become a part of them and for that they had given a part of themselves, not just their lives as Jedi, but the knowledge that they physically could not live without one another. _If one of you dies, the other will die as well_ , Master Windu’s words echoed in his mind. And yet, he had accepted that on Sh’Tar’va, had known even then that his fate was tied too deeply to Qui-Gon for them to ever let go of one another. He looked over at Qui-Gon, sensing the man’s agreement in the bond, thinking of how he had fought initially against such a connection and now it would define them, shaping them both, forever.

“We understand,” Obi-Wan replied softly.

“Dangerous, love is.” Yoda murmured, his lined face studying them both.

The statement echoed in the room, and Obi-Wan could faintly sense the Council’s fear and confusion at the ease at which Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had accepted such information. Obi-Wan looked around the room, determination etched on his features.

“I chose to be with Qui-Gon. That will not change,” he affirmed sternly.

“Nevertheless, relationships are forbidden. Attachments are forbidden,” Master Windu replied, resting his hands on the square edges of his chair. “We cannot allow you to remain at the Temple. You have broken the Code by entering into a relationship.”

There was a long pause, the silence in the room unending until Master Windu spoke again, his voice and expression calm, immovable.

“However, the Force has given you a powerful bond, one we cannot dispute,” he glanced over at Yoda before looking back at Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, “We are aware that both of you desire to stop slavery.”

“New Judicial Department unit there is, to destroy slavery their assignment is. Training they need under Jedi instruction,” Yoda declared. “Remain here you cannot, but banished you will not be.”

Obi-Wan stared at the diminutive Council member, his breath caught in his throat. Qui-Gon took a step forward.

“You wish for us to train the Judicial Department unit?” he asked.

“Train it, yes. Command it you will. Confer the rank of Jedi Knight on Kenobi, the Council does.” Yoda clarified emphatically.

Obi-Wan exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Qui-Gon. The knighting of a padawan was an important occasion that sometimes took weeks to complete. To be knighted so suddenly was extremely unorthodox. In the stunned silence that followed Master Windu sat forward, looking up at them sternly.

“You will not be allowed to return to the Temple, but you will still be considered Jedi Knights. Your contact with us will be limited, as will your contact with other Jedi. Your mission now is to assist in eliminating slavery by leading this Judicial Department unit.”

“When do we leave?” Qui-Gon asked quietly, the bond still reeling with the sudden change of events.

“Tomorrow. Republic Troops are already being deployed to Sh’Tar’va,” Master Windu stated firmly.

The senior council member studied them closely for a moment, Obi-Wan faintly sensing the man’s apprehension and hope before Mace Windu raised a hand, dismissing them with a murmured farewell from the Council.

* * *

The Temple was quiet, the shadowed halls gleaming with soft light cast here and there, a trick of architecture to make one think of moonlight. It gave an atmosphere of stateliness and peace and Obi-Wan knew that if he relaxed his shields fully he would be able to sense the layers of grace and order that the Temple resonated with. He refrained from doing so. He could not remove all barriers at once, it was enough to have let the Council into his mind when the bond was examined.

Obi-Wan moved silently through corridors, hearing the soft sound of running water from the Thousand Fountain Room in the distance. He knew where he had to go and that this was something he must do alone. Qui-Gon had understood that, as he had understood the Council’s decision regarding their bond. The Council’s decision had been unexpected, he suspected that they had surprised themselves. Were it not for the rarity of their bond, Obi-Wan was certain that he and Qui-Gon would have been banished entirely. Instead, they had been given an opportunity that Obi-Wan would not waste.

Obi-Wan stopped in front of a curved door, the metal sliding aside to reveal a dark room. It was bare of furnishings except for a holoprojector that displayed thousands of holograms, the miniature figures of ancient Jedi floating in the air, drifting through the room, their collected voices quiet as each spoke of the Jedi Order and the Code, some in a dialect too ancient to decipher. On a small platform elevated by a few steps were two tall windows that displayed Coruscant’s night sky obscured by buildings and traffic.

Obi-Wan paused when entering the small records room, looking at the figure who stood on the platform, back turned to him. He knew Virmu sensed he was there, just as he had known she would be here. The records room was a place she had often been drawn to when seeking meditation. He approached her, moving through the holos, stepping up the small set of stairs and stopping at her side. They both looked outside, he could not sense Virmu, but knew she must have been informed of what had happened. His knighting, Qui-Gon and him being reassigned to the Judicial Department, their banishment from the Temple but not the Jedi. For a long moment they stood there, not looking at one another. Finally, Obi-Wan spoke over the near-silent hum of recorded voices.

“I know you don’t understand why things happened the way they did.”

He glanced over at Virmu, her dark Jedi robes were neatly arranged, her expression closed off. He felt that familiar unease he always felt around her, the awareness that he was disappointing her. He did not let it hold sway over him. Obi-Wan knew that there was much more Virmu could have done as his master. There was pain he had suffered in his life that would have been easier to endure were she more understanding, and yet she had been a part of his life for many years. He could not forgive her but he could not hate her either.

She did not acknowledge him and he stayed for only a moment longer. Qui-Gon was waiting for him, the Judicial Department expecting them. He glanced toward the room, taking in the holos of ancient Jedi Masters imparting their knowledge for the next generation, the volume of their voices almost muted, the dark room awash in the blue glowing light.

“You have been knighted and yet you choose to discard your future for something that cannot last,” Virmu stated suddenly, her lined face still stubbornly turned away from him.

Obi-Wan tilted his head, watching her.

“I know what my future is, I do not fear it,” he replied softly, “You should not either.”

She lifted a shoulder slightly at his words but remained silent. Obi-Wan studied her for a moment longer, aware that in all likelihood he would never see her again. He inclined his head in a slight bow, turning and moving down the few steps, holos floating around him as he crossed toward the center of the room.

“Master Jinn has incited you to recklessness, to keeping this bond with him,” Virmu spoke sharply.

Obi-Wan stopped and looked back at her, she was half-turned toward him and for a moment their eyes met and held.

“I have asked him to marry me,” Obi-Wan said quietly, his voice echoing in the room as he looked up at her, “We will not be parted from one another.”

She turned away from him then, her gaze drawn back to the window and though Obi-Wan paused she did not acknowledge his presence and he understood fully that she never would. At one time he would have been tormented that he had disappointed her so thoroughly, but that was a part of his past that he could no longer hold on to. The customary farewell was there but he found he could not say it, instead he turned away, moving through the shining blue holos of long dead Jedi,

“Goodbye, Master,” he spoke into the darkness before leaving the room and everything that remained of his apprenticeship behind.

* * *

Obi-Wan approached the Temple’s front entrance. The vaulted ceilings above him cast shadows over the massive corridor he walked down, soft white lights illuminating patches of ornate tile beneath his feet, the rest fading into darkness, the hall empty of others. Obi-Wan looked up, seeing Qui-Gon turn from where he stood in front of the Temple’s massive glass doors, the older man sensing him in their bond.

Qui-Gon stood there, illuminated by the city lights behind him. A small bag was with him, the only possessions he would take from the Temple. Obi-Wan knew that the man’s quarters were already being cleared to be reused by another Jedi, their presence already erased. but some part of them would remain. There were those on the Council who had witnessed their soul bond, other Jedi who had sensed it though they had not understood. Even in their leaving the Temple, they invoked a sense of possibility. Perhaps the Order would be different one day, perhaps they would live to see a time where shame did not follow the show of emotion, where Jedi could love and not be banished for it.

He stopped at Qui-Gon’s side. They stood in front of the magnificent glass doors, both knowing they could never return. Obi-Wan looked over at Qui-Gon, the man’s handsome face serene, his lightsaber clipped firmly to his belt. They were still Jedi, that much was certain. They were bound to a different path now, one where they would be leading others into dangerous battlefields, where they would have to face choices and situations that were difficult to think of. There would be times where one of them or both of them would be in grave danger, but the knowledge that they would face the future together meant everything. They were not alone in their fight to end slavery, that end was already happening. They were now on the cusp of a new beginning.

Qui-Gon held out his hand and Obi-Wan took it, their fingers entwining. Their eyes met, Qui-Gon pulling his bag over his shoulder, his gaze turning toward the city. Obi-Wan stepped forward, the glass doors sliding open silently. They stepped down the stone stairs that led up to the Temple, faint moonlight falling on them as they walked away. Obi-Wan tilted his head back, looking up at the Judicial Department building visible in the distance and then further up toward the stars where the endlessness of the universe spilled out above them, gleaming with light.

 

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear lovely readers, 
> 
> What a journey! I can’t believe that it has been a whole year since this fic started! And now here we are, the end. It has been amazing to have you here, whether you just read this fic today, or whether you were there when I uploaded chapter one. Every single reader has made my day, through your comments, kudos, and bookmarks. It amazes me that this fic has gotten so much love. I’m going to miss discussing characters with you, teasing everyone with hints of upcoming chapters and receiving the incredible inspiration you all gave me. This fic has been with me for a long time waiting to be written, and now that it is, I want to thank you all for making it happen. I can’t guarantee I would have kept writing System of Darkness as diligently if no one had ever responded to it. However, I have received an outpouring of respect and love for this fic and words just can’t express how that makes me feel. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 
> 
> But on another note, I’m not done writing. System of Darkness may be finished, but I’m not. :) I have a slew of more fic ideas to write, and there is a particular fic that I’ve worked on prior to System of Darkness that once completed will be probably just as long if not longer. I don’t know when that one will be ready, but I do know that I’ll have some smaller fics done sooner than later. I have a few oneshots I’ve been thinking about as well. So there’s a lot of Obi/Qui stuff I’m still working on. I’ll continue updating my tumblr weekly, and let people know about my newest projects. I’ll also update a03 with any new fics, I’m hoping to have something up every month, or every two months, while I work on some larger pieces and get them ready for WIP status. 
> 
> The point is, I don’t want you to think I’m leaving now that System of Darkness is done. You can still message me, here on a03, or on tumblr, whenever you want to ask me questions about my fics or just to talk. Also, I will keep going into System of Darkness chapters and putting up the chapter art as my sister draws it. So there is that as well :). 
> 
> I seriously feel like doing a group hug right now, because you guys have really been my biggest fans. I just wandered around my house today saying “I can’t believe it’s done!” Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon mean so much to me, and even smaller characters like Baniss-Ena, Cage, Mem’vokla, they’ve all become familiar now. I’m sad to see it end but excited to start working on new jinnobi works. 
> 
> I know that some people will probably be wondering if I plan to write a sequel to System of Darkness. I don’t intend to, as I believe the fic wraps up pretty well at the end. The possibility is there, if I ever change my mind, but like I said, I have so many other obi/qui works I want to write that I think I’ll be quite busy for awhile! Again, thanks so much for your support, your encouragement and just generally being there for me while I wrote this novel. :)


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